


On Air

by wincechesters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: All the Daphne/Cas occurs behind the scenes and is not shown, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Comedy, Complete, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Humor, M/M, Other characters are mentioned but only those that actually appear are listed, Romance, Romantic Comedy, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-11 11:48:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1172713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wincechesters/pseuds/wincechesters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cas and Dean are radio DJs who host the second most popular morning show in Lawrence. They’ve been co-hosts for years at different stations across the country, and they own a house together out of necessity, even though they’re just friends. But for some reason, a lot of their listeners and even some of their friends and family seem to think that they’re secretly in some kind of relationship, which they’re totally not (besides that one time that totally doesn’t count). In spite of that, Dean thinks he’s got everything figured out, until an ill-fated on air game of Truth or Dare turns everything upside down (and the billboards around town aren’t helping either).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【授权翻译】On Air/直播中](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3796123) by [Treeeen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Treeeen/pseuds/Treeeen)



> Many thanks to my beloved [Meg](http://myplaceofgreatestsafety.tumblr.com) for betaing this work, as well as for your constant enthusiasm and encouragement. You’re amazing.
> 
> This story is inspired by a real-life morning show team in my hometown about whom there has been much speculation as to the “true” nature of their relationship. I will be publishing this in four parts every Friday until it is complete. Thanks in advance for reading and I would love to hear your comments! I’m [wincechesters](http://wincechesters.tumblr.com) over on tumblr if you want to come say hi!
> 
> Warnings for very brief mentions of alcohol as a coping mechanism in each part.
> 
> This fic has been translated into [Russian](http://ficbook.net/readfic/2337364) and [Chinese](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3796123/chapters/8452240).
> 
> Update 01/09/2015: My amazing friend [Sandra](http://casblues.tumblr.com) created some fanart as a gift for me in celebration of this fic reaching 2000 kudos. Thank you, Sandra; it's so gorgeous and I love it so much! You can view this gorgeous art at the end of Chapter 4 or [here on my tumblr](http://wincechesters.tumblr.com/post/107643394426/casblues-art-for-wincechesters-on-air)!

This whole thing was Garth’s fucking fault, really. How he got to be station manager in the first place is beyond Dean’s comprehension, considering he’s the weirdest guy Dean has ever met, and he doesn’t even care if the DJs show up on time and can’t be arsed to dress appropriately even for important meetings with big shot executives. And of all the different station managers that Dean and Cas have worked for together, Garth has the strangest ideas of how to run the station and what makes for good programming.

But somehow Garth’s dumb idea of entertainment seems to work, because The Mix has the second most popular morning show in Lawrence. So when Cas announces in his gravelly voice that they’re playing Truth or Dare with callers today, the switchboard starts lighting up immediately.

Castiel switches off their mics as the next song in rotation starts to play and turns to Dean who is staring at him grumpily. “What?” he asks patiently, taking hold of the coffee the intern, Kevin, had brought him this morning and raising it to his parted lips.

“What do you think?” Dean asks, rolling his eyes. “We’re really doing the Truth or Dare thing like a bunch of middle school kids?”

Cas shrugs one shoulder in that infuriatingly nonchalant way of his. “Why not? I think it’s endearing that our listeners care enough about us to want to know more about our lives outside of the show.”

“That’s not the part I’m worried about, man.” Dean points an accusatory finger at Cas. “We’ll see how much you like it when they’re daring you to go out into the street and moon oncoming traffic.” He raises his eyebrows pointedly at Cas over the brim of his own coffee cup as he takes a swig.

Cas’ brow furrows and his mouth curves downwards into a frown. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

Dean snorts. His friend’s innocence would be adorable if it wasn’t so fucking irritating. “What, you never played Truth or Dare as a kid, Cas? Streaking in a public place, kissing the girl you like in front of all your friends, putting a raw egg down your pants? You never did any of that?”

Cas shakes his head, his lips pursing in that disapproving way he has that says _Why are you such a neanderthal, Dean?,_ usually reserved for when Dean leaves his dirty clothes all over the house they own together, or forgets to do the dishes for the fourth day in a row, or has really loud, enthusiastic sex with some random girl or occasional guy he picked up in a bar, the sounds of which keep Cas up all night.

“You know I didn’t have what you would consider a normal childhood, Dean,” Cas chides him, because yeah, that’s right, Cas had the strictest upbringing imaginable and was forced to go to boarding school like a good little rich kid. And he didn’t even do the things that naughty prep school kids are supposed to do; he actually _studied_.

Too bad for Cas’ stuck up totalitarian parents that he’d flipped them the metaphorical bird when they’d tried to get him to go into pre-med like the rest of his family, taking an English major instead. And he’d given all that up, too, when his parents cut him off, and switched to Broadcasting in order to get a decent job in a hurry. He hadn’t expected to like it though, and he hadn’t expected to befriend Dean, firmly sealing his fate as the Black Sheep of the family.

“Well, take my word for it,” Dean says, “and stick with Truth.” That’s his plan and he might get in trouble for it later when the show ends up being boring as hell, but at least with Truth he can just lie; no one will even know the difference.  Dean’s not proud of it, but he’s really good at lying.

Okay, so maybe he is a _little_ bit proud.

The song comes to a close and Dean flicks on his mic. “That was the new song from Imagine Dragons, and you’re listening to The Cas and Dean Show. I’m Dean, and me and my buddy Cas are playing-” he glares at his co-host before continuing brightly- “Truth or Dare!”

“Right now we’ve got our first caller on the line,” Cas continues seamlessly. “ Hi Zach, you there?”

A man’s nasally voice comes over the line. “Yes, good morning. I want to dare Dean-”

“Hey, hang on,” Dean interrupts quickly. “I haven’t played Truth or Dare since I was about thirteen years old but last I remember it was askee’s choice.” Cas glares at Dean who grins back and shrugs at him as if to say _whatcha gonna do?_

The guy on the line sighs and says “All right, fine. Truth or Dare?”

“Truth,” Dean replies smugly.

“Of course,” the guy sneers, and they can almost hear the eyeroll. “Before you became a radio DJ, what was your dream job?”

“Firefighter,” Dean answers easily, stretching out in his seat and lacing his fingers behind his head. “Definitely a firefighter.”

Cas leans into his mic, his eyes narrowed and a little smirk on his lips as he looks sidelong at Dean. “Yes, Dean here always imagined himself something of a hero,” he mocks, ignoring Dean’s indignant gasp. “He wanted to be Batman, too, before that.”

Kevin’s guffaw echoes from the desk outside the studio.

“Hey, you’re one to talk, Mr. Professor,” Dean shoots back at Cas. His mouth curves into a wicked grin. “All Cas ever wanted was to have a PhD. Never did get it, though.” He winks salaciously at his co-host.

Cas rolls his eyes at the lame double entendre. “Very funny, Dean.” He hits a button to transfer Zach back out to Kevin and another to pick up the next line. “Next caller.”

The calls keep coming and they both stick to Truth after Cas goes against Dean’s advice and gives Dare a try. He ends up singing “The Itsy-Bitsy Spider” live on air in a deadpan voice while Dean practically rolls out of his seat, howling with laughter, hand over his mic to dull the sounds. Soon they’ve been asked what color and style of underwear they’re both wearing (blue plaid boxers for Dean and hilariously, also blue boxer-briefs for Cas), what their middle names are (Alexander and James) and who their celebrity crushes are (Dean’s is Transformers-era Megan Fox and Cas says Cate Blanchett) and Dean’s shocked to discover that he’s actually having a lot of fucking fun.

Dean’s still chuckling over Cas’ last answers (“How do you take your coffee?” “Caffeinated”) when he picks up the next call. “Hi, The Mix?”

“Hi Dean,” the chipper, sure, female voice comes through the line. Dean grins over at Cas, whose lip is twitching in amusement. He waves one slender hand as if to say _go ahead_.

“What’s your name, sweetheart?” Dean purrs over the line and he’s rewarded when Cas has to purse his lips together to stifle his laugh. Dean thinks that half the reason he does this - flirting ridiculously with the female callers - is to make Cas laugh.

“Becky,” the caller says succinctly.

“Hi Becky,” he answers, letting his voice drop into the seductive range. “You have a question for me and my buddy Cas, here?”

“Yes,” she says immediately, and then goes straight into “are you and Cas secretly married?”

Dean’s speechless. This isn’t the first time someone has wondered if he and Cas are together, but normally the calls don’t get through to the air. This must be - yep, there’s Kevin, peering in the window at them, practically dancing with glee at Dean’s discomfort. This must be payback for when he hid the nerd’s Magic cards last week.

He doesn’t have a sarcastic retort or even an immature innuendo to offer, and his mouth gapes open and closed like a goldfish before he finally manages to stutter out “N-no.”

“What about dating?” Becky demands.

Cas turns his head towards his co-host expectantly, his eyebrows raised as he waits in amused silence for Dean’s reply.

Finally Dean manages to squeak out “No, not dating either. We’re just friends.”

“So let me get this straight. You went to school together, you work together, you _moved across the country_ together _and_ you have a house that you own together? And you’re just friends?” She scoffs, the disbelief evident in her voice even over the phone. “Yeah right.”

Okay, that all might be true, but only because Dean and Cas make damn good radio together. When Cruise FM had changed hands and the new management decided to go a different direction with their programming, they’d been let go and forced to move to find work. They ended up having to move several times over the years, bouncing from town to town, state to state, going where the work was - at least until the fire.

Arson, they’d called it, and they’d caught the guy, but no amount of justice could bring back the home that had been destroyed or give John and Mary back their lives. It was the darkest part of Dean’s life, and he’d had to pick up everything and move home to be with Sam and help him pay for the rest of his schooling at KU. Cas could’ve stayed; the station they had been working at in Idaho at the time had offered to let him keep his job and just replace his co-host, but he’d quit and moved home with Dean without a second thought, and Dean can’t even think about that too hard because of how much it meant that his best friend was there when he needed him. From there, it only made sense for them to buy a house together instead of continuing to rent, and they needed jobs to pay for the house and for college for Sam. And that’s when Bobby had hooked them up with Garth and the rest is history.

But Dean can’t say any of that, because it doesn’t actually contradict anything Becky’s saying, and he knows it. “Cas, wanna help me out, here, buddy?” he asks desperately.

Cas clears his throat, and there’s a tiny, smug smile playing on his lips, damn him. “Hi Becky, this is Cas. Dean’s telling you the truth, we’re not married or dating. We’re just good friends.” He pauses to take a sip of his coffee and Dean thinks he’s safe so he shoves about half a donut in his face like the classy individual he is.

But then Cas - the traitor - is turning back to the mic and he says, to Dean’s complete and utter horror, “But we have slept together.”

Dean chokes on his donut.

It’s chaos. “I KNEW IT!” Becky crows triumphantly over the line, and Kevin screams a muffled “WHAT?” through the glass, his eyes bugging out as he stares back and forth between Cas and Dean. Dean panics and hits the button to play their show title and then segue into the next song, hoping that the transition at least sounds somewhat purposeful and not like damage control, which it absolutely one hundred percent was.

“What the fuck, Cas?!” Dean wheezes around the chunks of donut still lodged in his throat. Cas reaches over to casually thump him on the back.

“The game is called _Truth_ or Dare, Dean,” the smug bastard says, blinking innocently as if he hadn’t just dropped the biggest bombshell of FM radio in - like - ever.

“That’s not even what she asked!” Dean feels faint. “You realize you just outed us both on air to thousands of people, probably including everyone we know?”

Cas blinks at him. “So? It’s not a secret, is it?”

“Well, _now_ it certainly isn’t,” Dean grumbles. “Is this payback for me spilling beer on your damn book last week? I _said_ I was sorry, man, it was an accident-”

“Dean,” Cas interrupts, and Dean stutters to a halt. “Relax. If it upsets you so much, I’ll tell all our friends that it was a joke. We can even use the book as an excuse, if you want. I just,” he turns his head, diverting his eyes to squint up at one of the lights, “didn’t know it was such a big deal to you.”

It’s not a big deal. It’s not. But only because Dean has spent three years aggressively _not_  thinking about the night that he and Cas had a little too much Jack while watching a marathon of the _The Lord of the Rings_ trilogy and ended up fucking on the couch. It was slow and sloppy and probably the dumbest thing Dean’s ever done, but it was still, to this day, the best sex of his entire life. But he doesn’t think about it. Ever.

Except now it’s all he can think about besides the fact that Sammy probably heard, and their boss, and Jo and Ellen and _oh God, Bobby,_ not to mention half the city, and he’s torn between mortification and fear and being pissed off at Cas for saying that on the air without even _consulting him_ first and yeah, maybe he’s a little aroused at the suppressed memories that are coming flooding back full force and totally without his permission.

“Whatever, man, it’s cool,” he mumbles, but he can’t meet Cas’ eyes.

The rest of their shift is subdued, and they cut the game short in favor of some dull conversation about a controversial news story, and Kevin is stuck fielding the calls which serves him right for starting this mess in the first place.

Garth stops them on the way out of the station, slinging a scrawny arm around each of them and pulling them to his sides. “Dudes, congratulations! I’m so happy for you! Gotta say you guys make the cutest couple.”

Dean casts a pleading look around the back of Garth’s head at Cas, who rolls his eyes.

“Garth, Dean would like me to clarify that we’re not together,” Cas says. “It was one time, many years ago, and I shouldn’t have said it on air.” His blue eyes slide back to meet Dean’s. “It was nothing.”

“Aw, that’s too bad,” Garth says, giving them each a conciliatory pat on the arm before releasing them, and he Jar-Jar Binkses it out of there before Dean can protest that they don’t need consolation because they’re _not in a relationship_ for chrissake, and why does no one believe them?!

Dean and Cas walk out to the Impala in silence, dutifully avoiding each other’s gaze. Okay maybe it’s just Dean; Cas doesn’t seem to be at all afflicted by the oppressive sense of awkwardness that has settled around Dean’s shoulders. Dean slides his phone out of his pocket for something to do as they make their way across the lot and groans - eight text messages, two voicemails and about a hundred missed calls. He ignores the inquisitive glance Cas shoots him, shoving his phone back into his pocket and opening the car door.

He slides onto the bench seat and turns the key as Cas throws his messenger bag into the back seat and climbs in himself. Dean clears his throat, and Cas looks over at him slowly, eyebrows almost to his hairline as he waits for Dean to speak.

“So… I’m starving. Do you wanna grab some burgers on the way home?”

Cas sighs. “Do you want to talk about what’s really bothering you?”

Dean’s brow furrows. “I - what?”

Cas unbuckles his seatbelt and turns his body, slinging his bent left leg onto the seat so that he’s facing Dean. “You’ve been acting strange and distant since I said that we’d slept together.”

Dean turns and scowls at him. “C'mon, man, do we really have to talk about this?”

Cas glares at him. “Dean.”

Dean sighs exaggeratedly. “Alright _fine_. I’m _sorry_ , okay? It’s just weird, we live together and we work together-”

“And that’s never bothered you before.” Cas cocks his head inquisitively, studying Dean’s face as if he can read the reason that Dean’s being such a knob in his eyes or the tension around his mouth. “It was _years_ ago, Dean. I fail to see why you’re behaving as if it was yesterday.”

Dean exhales, forcing the tension from his body, rubbing a hand over his face. “Sorry, man. I just freaked, I guess. It was just a dumb drunken mistake that happened, and it doesn’t have to be a big deal.” He glares at his friend. “But _you’re_ explaining to everyone that we’re not secretly married, or whatever.”

“Fine. Are you done being idiotic, now?”

“I’m not-”

“Dean.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yes, I’m done.”

“Good,” Cas says, straightening in his seat and re-buckling his seatbelt, “because I have a date tonight and I don’t have time to deal with your neediness.”

“I’m not needy,” Dean grumbles, putting the car into drive and pulling out of the stall, trying not to dwell on the first part of Cas’ sentence. A _date?_ Since _when?_ And with _whom?_ And while he’s at it, since when does Dean care?

It’s not like Cas never dates, although he definitely doesn’t do it as frequently or as obviously or as _loudly_ as Dean. But he does occasionally go out in the evenings, and on occasion he even stumbles in the next morning, his hair sticking up every which way and his shirt buttoned wrong, grunting a hello to Dean where he sits at the kitchen table before going straight to the shower.

For some reason, over the years, they’ve developed an unspoken agreement in which neither of them discusses their conquests. Relationships, sure, but it’s not like either of them either has had one of those recently. Not since Balthazar broke Cas’ heart and Lisa realized that Dean wasn’t ready to commit to be a father figure to her child (she was right).

But now that he thinks about it, Cas has had a few more late nights than usual in the past few weeks. Has he been seeing someone? Is it getting serious?

He opens his mouth to ask, but then Cas says “And yes, I would like a burger, and you’re buying since you’re such an asshat,” and turns his attention to his phone with a focus that makes it clear that the conversation is over.

* * *

Dean’s sprawled out on the couch, a beer in his hand and last week’s episode of _Dr Sexy M.D._ on the TV. He’d finally buckled down and answered his phone when Sam had called for the four-hundredth time, and assured his brother that no, he and Cas are not secretly married, or secretly dating, or secretly fucking every time they find themselves at home alone with nothing better to do. And then he’d given the same story to Jo and her mother Ellen (“Stop yammering and give me the phone, Joanna Beth!”) and finally, Bobby. It was shockingly difficult to convince them; they’d all acted as though they had been waiting for this big news for years. Which was probably why Dean was already into his fourth beer at six o’clock on a Tuesday.

Cas parades through the living room with Dean’s duffel bag slung over his shoulder, ignoring Dean’s protest when he walks between the couch and the TV, going straight to the front door to begin pulling on his shoes.

“Is that my bag?” Dean asks, cocking an eyebrow as he follows Cas’ path across the room.

“Very astute,” Cas replies, his focus on his shiny dress shoes, where he’s tying the little shoelaces with deft, slender fingers.

Dean’s mouth works soundlessly as he struggles to control his knee-jerk response, which is of course, to yell at Cas for being purposefully fucking obtuse. Finally he manages, in a tone that’s barely controlled, “Cas, why do you have my bag?”

“I’m borrowing it,” he replies, smoothing the front of his dark blue dress shirt as he straightens up to meet Dean’s eyes.

And objectively speaking, Cas looks really fucking good. He’s shaved, his hair is styled to within an inch of its life, he’s wearing dress pants that show off his slim hips and well-muscled runners thighs, and that shirt totally makes the blue of his eyes pop - not that Dean notices.

“Gee, thanks for asking,” Dean grumbles. “Why do you even need it? Big night?”

Cas shrugs. “It’s not a big deal, but I won’t be home tonight. I’ll meet you at work tomorrow?”

Dean ignores the weird sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. “Sounds like a big night to me.” He waggles his eyebrows. “Third date?”

Cas rolls his eyes. “No Dean, it’s actually an eighth date.”

Dean snorts, shaking his head. “Always knew you were a prude, Cas.”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but that’s not what this is. I’m just getting tired of rushing home to change and shower before work.”

That sobers Dean right up. “How long have you been dating this… person?”

“Daphne.”

“Daphne,” Dean parrots back. “How long have you been dating Daphne?”

Cas runs his hand through his hair, effectively ruining all his hard work, and Dean feels an unwelcome surge of affection at the mess his fingers make of it. “I don’t know, maybe a month?”

A _month_. He flashes a patented Dean Winchester grin, “So when do I get to meet her? You worried I’ll steal her away? I’ll admit that that is a legitimate concern; there aren’t all that many women out there who can control themselves around me.”

“Shut up, Dean,” Cas says affectionately. “I’ll ask her if she’s free for dinner sometime this week.”

“Good,” Dean replies, with a mockingly stern nod.

Then there’s a strange moment where Cas and Dean are just grinning at each other across the room and Dean’s arms feel weird like maybe they should be wrapped around Cas, and his eyes want to drag down the length of Cas’ body even though he already knows what Cas is wearing and shouldn’t give a damn anyway.

So he breaks the tension by shooting him a salute and saying “Bye, Cas. Happy fucking!” and Cas snorts and rolls his eyes again and then he’s gone.

He doesn’t know what this weird feeling is roiling around in his stomach but he thinks it might be jealousy. He must be jealous that his best friend is getting laid on a regular basis, and is out to get some tonight. That’s gotta be it, right? In that case, the solution is simple; go and get some tail of his own, and Dean Winchester doesn’t often strike out. This is a perfect night to hook up, too, with Cas gone. He won’t have to worry about the glares and the lecture he’ll get from his housemate the next morning after hours of foundation-shaking, Cas-waking sex.

But he makes no move to leave the couch, to get dressed up and go find someone to bring home.

Instead, his mind wanders inexplicably to that night, three years ago and change, when close quarters and mutual attraction and Dean’s good friend Jack Daniels had pushed them somewhere they’d never gone before, and hadn’t since.

It had been Cas who started it, he thinks. They’d been arguing about the merits of Arwen over Eowyn and why (in Dean’s opinion), Aragorn was a dumbass. Then Cas - the sore loser - had reached across the too-small distance between them and poked him hard in the side with one of those long fingers, and Dean had made an embarrassingly high pitched noise that made Cas collapse into a fit of laughter, crinkles all around his eyes and his lips pulled back in a gummy smile. And then Dean had shoved him, but good ol’ Jack had thrown him off balance and made the room tilt alarmingly, and Dean fell against Cas’ side. He could feel the heat of him, pressed in one long line beneath Dean, the jut of his hipbone against Dean’s own. Their faces were suddenly too close together, and Cas wasn’t laughing anymore, his eyes flickering down to linger on Dean’s lips.

And before he knew it, Dean was kissing him, and Cas tasted like the salt and butter from the popcorn they’d shared, and like whiskey, and his mouth was warm and slick beneath Dean’s.

Cas’ arms had wound tightly around him, one hand curving around the back of his neck and the other sliding down to splay over his lower back, pressing them closer together. Dean had groaned into Cas’ mouth, or maybe it had been Cas that groaned, but it was definitely Dean that shifted so that their hips slotted together, and at the first slide of cock against cock through their pants, Dean had cursed and Cas had gasped and they’d arched into each other as if they had been waiting for this forever.

It had been messy and fumbling, clothes catching on limbs as they twisted and tugged themselves free. Open mouthed kisses went everywhere they could reach, too much teeth and tongue and no finesse but hot and raw and full of need. And Cas had turned over on his stomach and somehow Dean was inside him, draped over his body, moving in a slow roll with Cas reaching up behind him to drag Dean’s head into the crook of his neck and arching back to catch his lips. And Dean came with Cas’ fingers in his hair, gasping into the space between his shoulder blades, breathing in the scent of him and licking the sweat from his skin.

They’d fallen asleep tangled together, and woken up in the most uncomfortable way possible: hungover and naked and sticky with each other’s jizz. It had been awkward for days, weeks even, as they danced around each other, wondering if one drunken mistake had ruined years of friendship. Of course, eventually Dean had gone out to the bar and brought a girl home because he just couldn’t stand the tension anymore, and the next day, Cas had griped at him about keeping it down while Cas was sleeping, like usual. Somehow they’d stumbled back into the way things were, never mentioning it and at least in Dean’s case, never thinking about it - until now.

He’s jolted back to the present when the piercing sound of a heart monitor gone flatline bursts out of the tv speakers. He’s alone in the house he shares with his best friend, who is out with his new girlfriend _Daphne_ , and Dean has no right to hate her, no right at all, but he does. Not as much as he hates himself, though, nothing can compare to that.

He’s hard in his pants and pissed off, and he fists his cock and jerks off angrily right there on the couch in the middle of their shared living room until he comes with a shout that sounds suspiciously like Cas’ name. And as he pants in the wake of his orgasm, body trembling with little aftershocks, he thinks that he really is a great liar, but maybe the lie he’s told himself all these years since that night is the worst of all, and if only he hadn’t had to play that stupid game on air, and if only he hadn’t been forcefully reminded of that night, he might have been able to keep believing it.

Yep. This is all Garth’s fucking fault.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Unattached Drifter Christmas (or Valentine's Day, if that's your thing) <3
> 
> Beta'd by the magnificent, luminous Meg! You guys should go drop her some love, because she pumps me up and fixes my ridiculous convoluted sentences so that you can actually read the stuff I write. And she's just awesome.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading and for your kudos and comments! I'd love to hear what you think of the story so far. Come say hi to me on tumblr at wincechesters!
> 
> Warnings once again for use of alcohol as a coping mechanism.

A few weeks after “the incident,” as Dean had labeled it, he picks up Sam for their Saturday night ritual of burgers and beer at The Roadhouse. Ever since Sam got his Law degree and his big fancy job downtown and moved out in a fit of independence, they’ve made a habit of hanging out once a week without fail to catch up, whatever else happens to be going on in their lives. It serves the double purpose of giving Dean a guaranteed chance to rag on his brother while at the same time assuring Ellen that they’re both still alive and kicking and not dead in a gutter somewhere.

Dean’s behind the wheel of the Impala and Sam’s in the middle of telling his brother a story about Madison, the office manager from the accounting firm adjacent to Sam’s office that he’s totally gone on, when Dean spots the billboard out of the corner of his eye. Ignoring Sam’s squawked protests, Dean jerks his baby across three lanes of traffic to a sudden stop in the parking lot in front of the sign. He fumbles with the ignition, barely managing to shut the engine off before he’s launching himself from the car to get a better look.

Dean skids to a stop and stares up at the bold white billboard, his mouth hanging open and eyes wide in disbelief. Sam joins him a moment later, stepping up beside his brother with a similar expression of astonishment on his face.

In bold blue letters, the words _The Cas and Dean Show: The Mix_ _101.5 FM_ stretch across the bottom of the advertisement, and there’s Dean’s sexy mug, his lips pursed and eyebrow raised invitingly. Dean remembers the photoshoot they’d had a couple weeks back, and how he’d offered the guy his Blue Steel impression as a joke. The photographer had caught Cas mid eye-roll, his arms crossed over his chest in a typical moment of exasperation. Their backs are pressed together and Cas’ head is tilted towards Dean’s so that it’s obvious to anyone who the object of his contempt is. But somehow, underneath the disapproval, there’s also a familiar affection that makes a smile tug insistently at the corners of Dean’s mouth, his chest filling with warmth as he looks up at the sign.

But the words on the leftmost side of the ad cancel all of that out, wiping the smile off of Dean’s face and replacing it with a burning flush and a gaping disbelief.

_Are they, or aren’t they?_

“Shit,” he groans with feeling, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Goddammit, Garth!” Who the fuck put that guy in charge any way?

Things had just settled down with Cas after “the incident,” during which Cas had blurted out to their thousands of listeners that he and Dean had had sex. Live. On Air. Which, by the way, had been Garth’s fault too, since he was the one who started that stupid game of Truth or Dare in the first place. But now… now everything is going to be flipped on its ass again, all because of this stupid billboard.

Sam casts a sidelong look down at his brother. “I don’t think it’s as bad as you think. I mean, it’s good marketing, you’ve gotta give them that.”

Dean rolls his eyes. Sure, the stunt Cas had pulled had boosted their ratings, increased the number of listeners (particularly of the young, female variety) who now tuned into their show, always waiting intently for Dean and Cas to slip and reveal the _true_ nature of their relationship. Which, regardless of how much Dean might wish it could be, was not the true nature of it at all.

“Doesn’t change the fact that it’s gonna make things tough for Cas and me,” he grumbles. “Besides, Cas has a _girlfriend_ , or didn’t you notice? How do you think she’s gonna feel about that sign?”

He spins on his heel and goes around the Impala to the driver’s side door, left open in his haste to get a better look at the billboard. He gets in and slams the door with more force than is probably necessary, but fuck it, he needs a physical outlet right now, and since he can’t have the one he wants, slamming his car door will have to do. He’ll apologize to his baby later.

Sam follows more slowly, getting into the seat but not putting his seatbelt on immediately.

Dean starts the Impala and taps his fingers on the steering wheel impatiently, staring determinedly out the windshield as Sam’s eyes bore into the side of his face. Finally, he rolls his eyes again and turns to face his little brother.

“Jesus, _what_?”

Sam studies him intently before answering. “Why does this bother you so much? People have thought you and Cas were together before and you were never this freaked.”

“It’s nothing, Sam. Put your damn seatbelt on so we can go eat, I’m starving.”

Sam makes no move to fasten his seatbelt. “Dean, I know you. You can’t lie to me.”

Dean stays stubbornly silent, dropping his eyes to glare at the seam in the leather seat.

“Is it about Daphne?”

Dean freezes and Sam must see something on his face because he crows in triumph. “It is! You don’t like Daphne!”

“It’s not that I don’t like her, per se,” Dean protests, because it isn’t. As promised, Cas had brought Daphne over for dinner a few days after Dean had found out there was a Daphne in the first place. She was sweet and friendly and pretty, with wide green eyes and wavy hair that fell softly around her face. She was even a little bit funny, and Dean had actually liked her a lot. If he were a bigger person, he might actually want Cas to settle down with this girl, move out, get married, have 2.5 kids and the cat he’s always wanted but can’t have because Dean’s allergic.

Fucking Daphne with her pretty face and her kind smile and her teaching degree, and being way better for Cas than Dean could ever be. Fucking Daphne and her sweetness that’s impossible to hate, even though Dean tried. Really, really hard.

“Then what is it?” Sam asks, and his voice is still amused. “Gonna finally admit that you’re in love with Cas?”

“What?!” Dean yelps, his eyes snapping up to meet Sam’s. His heart is pounding about a million beats a minute, his blood roaring in his ears, and he knows that his face must be flushed scarlet. “I am not _in love_ with Cas.”

His asshole brother barks a laugh. “Sure, Dean. Whatever you say. Next you’re gonna try to tell me you don’t like pie.”

Dean contemplates shoving Sam out the passenger door and driving off without him. He’d make it home right? Someone would stop to give the poor lost puppy a ride. Sure, he’d be pissed, but then the epic bitchface he’d show up with would be infinitely better than the knowing, kind of pitying expression he’s wearing right now that says _I understand; let me share your manpain_.

“I’m not,” Dean grumbles, stubbornly refusing to meet his brother’s eyes. Sure, he spends a lot of time thinking about that night they accidentally slept together, now that he’s been forcefully reminded and the floodgates are open. And yeah, maybe he pictures Cas when he jerks off more often than he doesn’t but so what? Wanting to bang someone isn’t the same as being in love with them. Cas is fucking hot, but he and Cas are _friends_. It doesn’t mean that Dean’s _in love_ with him.

“Listen, Dean,” Sam says patiently, “you can keep lying to yourself if you want, but we’ve known for a long time, okay? Me, Ellen, Jo, even _Bobby_. I bet if you asked Charlie, she’d say the same.”

Dean’s head snaps up. “Everyone knows?” he asks incredulously, forgetting to deny it in his shock. “And none of you thought it would be a good idea to clue me in to this vital piece of information?”

Sam laughs, dimples flashing in his cheeks - really, his brother is sickeningly cute, and Dean doesn’t know why he doesn’t have girls lining up around the block for him.

“I dunno, Dean, I guess we just thought you were smart enough to figure that one out on your own,” Sam says, reaching out to clap his brother on the shoulder, mockingly consoling. “Looks like we overestimated you a little, there.”

Dean punches him in the arm.

“Ow, Dean! Take it easy!” Sam flashes a bitchface at his brother, rubbing his bicep grumpily. “All of us kinda thought you were already together, at least until Cas started bringing Daphne around. We were just waiting for you to make it official. You guys just _work_ , you know?”

Dean knows. There’s no way they could’ve lived together _and_ worked together for the past eight years otherwise. Sure, Cas yells at Dean for leaving their house a fucking sty and Dean might do it purposefully just to pay him back for all the times Cas drank the last of the milk and left the goddamn empty carton in the fridge so Dean doesn’t know to buy more and has to eat his cereal dry. And maybe Dean flips out at Cas when Cas buys crappy beer instead of the good stuff, which he _knows_ Dean hates, and Cas just rolls his eyes and says that it’s cheaper and they’re not millionaires and tells him not to drink it if he doesn’t like it. In fact, Cas might roll his eyes nearly every time Dean opens his mouth, but Dean knows him well enough to see the humor underneath the expression, and maybe Dean tries extra hard to get a rise out of him because it’s just as endearing as his smile.

And Jesus fucking Christ on a tortilla. He’s fucking _in love_ with Castiel.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean moans, scrubbing his hands over his face in frustration.

“There it is,” Sam says quietly, and the hand that he drops onto Dean’s shoulder this time is genuinely sympathetic.

“I fucked up, Sam,” Dean says into his hands. “I fucked up bad.” This whole ridiculous situation was awful enough when he just thought he really wanted to screw around with Cas, but this? Being _in love_ with his best friend who, oh yeah, has a _girlfriend?_ This is a thousand times worse.

He drops his hands suddenly and whips his baby into drive. “Put your seatbelt on, Sammy. There’s a bottle of whiskey at The Roadhouse with my name on it. You’re driving home.”

* * *

Dean does indeed get drunk at the Roadhouse, and poor Sam has to put up with his obnoxious intoxicated brother for the next several hours. Tomorrow, Dean will have the good sense to be ashamed, although he’d never admit it, and he’ll treat Sam to lunch when he takes him back to his downtown apartment as his way of apologizing.

It’s nearly midnight by the time Sam helps him stumble up the walkway and in the door. Sam’s old room is still set up so Dean doesn’t have to worry about where his brother is going to sleep, but by the time Sam manages to half drag, half carry him through the entranceway, Dean has decided that the stairs are too daunting in his present state, so he collapses face first on the couch before Sam can put up a protest.

“Too far,” Dean says, sliding his arms under the pillow Sam drops on the couch for him and burying his face in it. “‘m good here, Sammy.”

Sam snorts and yanks the blanket down from the back of the couch and drapes it over his brother. “Go to sleep, idiot,” he says. “I’ll put a pot of coffee on when I wake up. Pretty sure you’re gonna need it.”

Dean waves him off, not bothering to open his eyes. “Night Sammy!” he calls loudly.

“Shut up, Dean,” Sam hisses. “You’ll wake Cas up!”

Dean shakes his head slowly, fingers clutching the pillow under his head. “‘s not home,” he says. “Staying at _Daphne’s_.” He kicks his legs to show his displeasure, and the blanket slides off of him to pool on the floor.

Sam sighs and drags the blanket back off the floor to dump it back over Dean. “You’re a child,” he grumbles, “and I’m going to bed.”

Dean burrows deeper into the pillow, the sounds of Sam’s feet on the stairs muffled. His mind is hazy with alcohol and he stops fighting it, letting himself be sucked down into the warm, fuzzy buzzing in his head.

The next thing he knows, he’s waking up to the sound of his front door closing and the creak of the floorboards under socked feet. He’s slept off most of his drunk, leaving him with a lingering fuzziness and a raging headache. Sometime in the however long he’s been asleep, he’s rolled from his stomach onto his back, and when the light flicks on in the kitchen, Dean claps his arm over his eyes to block out the flood of light streaming through the doorway. He hears a drawer slide open and then the god-awful banging of pots and pans against one another and groans loudly in protest.

“Dean?”

Dean moves his arm reluctantly and cracks one eyelid, tilting his head backwards to look towards the sound of the voice. Cas’ messy, dark head is peering around the doorframe at him, and he’s blinking quizzically.

“What are you doing on the couch?” Cas asks, his voice low, which Dean appreciates, given the throbbing that’s set itself up behind his temples.

Dean heaves himself to a sitting position, flinching as the pain flares behind his eyes. “Stairs are hard,” he rasps, pinching the bridge of his nose in a totally fucking useless attempt to stave off the pain.

Cas snorts, but his lip twitches in barely suppressed amusement. “Since you’re up, do you want some eggs? I’m starving.”

Dean’s stomach growls at the mention of food and he stumbles to his feet, dragging the blanket up over his shoulders to wrap it around himself. He slumps into a chair at the kitchen table, letting his head fall forward onto his folded arms with a groan.

“Rough night?” Cas asks, opening the refridgerator to pull out the eggs.

Dean nods feebly into his arms and Cas lets out a low chuckle. “Aren’t you a little old to be drinking yourself stupid, Dean?”

Dean tilts his head and opens one bleary eye. “One, I am not old,” he grumbles around his raw throat. “Two, I’ll never be too old to drink myself stupid when the situation demands it. And three, shut up.”

Cas turns back to the stove, but not before Dean sees his eyes roll affectionately. He cracks the first egg on the edge of the pan, splitting it expertly with one hand while holding the handle with the other. “I assume Sam drove you home?” He discards the shell and repeats the process with three more eggs and starts stirring with a plastic spatula.

Dean nods. “He’s up in his room; I’ll take him home tomorrow. Today. Whatever.” Dean tracks Cas’ motion as he heads back to the fridge, pulling something else out and adding it to a second pan on the stove. Cas isn’t the greatest cook, but he can do breakfast food, and the greasy smell that fills the kitchen makes Dean’s mouth water.

“What are you doing home, anyway?” Dean asks eventually, watching the muscles of Cas’ back play under his shirt as he stirs the eggs around the pan. “Thought you were staying at Daphne’s.”

Cas looks over his right shoulder at Dean before turning back to the stove with a shrug. “We had a disagreement.”

That finally brings Dean’s head up off the table. “Is ‘disagreement’ code for ‘huge screaming fight’?”

“No, Dean. ‘Disagreement’ just means ‘disagreement’.”

Cas turns from the stove with a plate in his hand and deposits it in front of Dean, and Dean discovers that the sneaky bastard has fried up some bacon along with the eggs. He’s cooked the bacon just the way Dean likes it even though he thinks it’s disgusting: not too crispy so it’s still all greasy and soft and delicious. Cas deposits a glass of water beside him and then sits down at their little round kitchen table and there’s no bacon on his own plate, so Dean knows that he made it specifically for Dean.

Dean nods his thanks as he lifts the glass to his lips to chug about half of it before settling into the meal. He recognizes the bacon for what it is, a bribe to leave well enough alone, so he doesn’t press Cas about his fight with Daphne (because c’mon, no one in their right mind turns down sex and sleeping next to a soft, warm body just because they had a little _disagreement)._ They eat in silence, punctuated only by the scrape of their forks on the plates.

Finally, it’s Cas that breaks. “Daphne saw the ad for the show,” he says, twiddling his empty fork as he squints down at his eggs as if they’ve mortally offended him.

Aha. Dean was right; she did have a problem with the insinuation on the ad that he and Cas are together or fucking or whatever. He thinks that if his head were pounding less and he were less exhausted, he’d probably be feeling pretty triumphant right about now. He makes a mental note to tell Sammy that he won that debate, provided he doesn’t forget by the time he wakes up again in the morning.

"I saw that same ad tonight as a matter of fact," Dean rasps, bringing the glass of water back to his lips.

Cas fixes him with a sharp gaze. "That wouldn't happen to be the reason you decided to drown your troubles in Jack and coke, would it?"

 _Actually it is,_ Dean thinks. _It’s because apparently, I’m fucking_ in love _with you, and the whole world knew it except for me, and I guess you, and it’s just been rubbed in my face in the form of a giant billboard on 6th avenue._ Dean shakes his head stubbornly, hoping that his flush isn't noticeable. "No, man, I don’t care,” he lies. “It's just PR."

"That's what I tried to tell Daphne," Cas says, raking a hand through his hair, making the already mussed strands stand even more on end. He takes Dean’s now empty plate and rinses both it and his own in the sink before placing them in the dishwasher. “I believe, from what I managed to understand, she is worried about what her family might think.” He sighs, turning to face Dean and lean wearily against the countertop.

Dean shrugs feebly. Truth be told, he kind of gets it. He wouldn’t want his boyfriend to be in an ad implying that he was in a relationship with someone else either. “Just blame it all on Garth. That’s what I’m gonna do.”

Cas huffs a laugh and Dean smirks back at him, ignoring the stabbing pain behind his left eye as he does so. There’s a long moment where they just sit there grinning at each other like a couple of idiots, but then Cas’ smile falters and he looks away, clearing his throat.

“Well, even though it’s-” Cas checks his watch- “just after 2 am, I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep anytime soon. Do you want to watch a movie?”

“Sure. No promises that I’ll make it all the way through, though,” Dean warns.

Cas rolls his eyes but his smile is fond. “All right then, in that case, I get to pick the movie,” he replies, and he’s back in the living room before Dean can even make it to his feet.

“No fair,” Dean calls weakly, stumbling after him. “You're taking advantage of my handicap. Have mercy on the invalid!”

Cas’ snort is audible even from the kitchen. “Hungover is hardly a state that would earn you my sympathy, Dean,” he says, and Dean grins weakly because he knows Cas can’t see him.

By the time he manages to shuffle into the living room and plunk his ass back down on the couch, Cas has got the movie started. He settles in, grumbling when Cas throws himself on the seat next to him. Then a familiar ethereal voice accompanied by plaintive strings is filtering quietly through the speakers of the TV, and Dean has to blink for a moment to check and make sure he’s not imagining what he thinks he’s seeing.

Nope he’s not imagining it. Cas has put on _The Lord of the Rings_.

Surely he remembers. Cas is the one with the good memory, and he can’t possibly have forgotten what happened the last time they watched these movies together. Dean glances quickly over at Cas out of the corner of his eye, but his friend’s gaze is rapt on the television screen, his mouth moving silently along with Galadriel’s speech, even the parts that are in Elvish.

 _Nerd,_ Dean thinks fondly, and he’s struck by an overwhelming desire to slide his arm around Cas’ shoulders and scoop him in flush against his side.

Dean starts quoting the Rudy hobbit (who he knows full-well is named Sam), obnoxiously talking over his lines until Cas decides eye rolling isn’t enough of a deterrent and hits him in the face with a pillow. It all feels disturbingly familiar and Dean feels a heat building in his stomach, a temptation to push it further, to touch Cas somehow, to see where it would go, if they would end up where they did the last time. He wants Cas, and he thinks that it’s impossible that Cas doesn’t know what’s going on right now, and at the same time, he thinks that _The Lord of the Rings_ is probably the weirdest aphrodisiac he’s ever experienced.

 _But what about Daphne,_ a stupid voice in the back of his head that sounds suspiciously like Sam whispers insistently.

 _Screw Daphne,_ he thinks grumpily. _I saw him first_.

 _Not how it works, Dean,_ the Sam-voice says condescendingly, and Dean rolls his eyes as he imagines the accompanying bitch-face. He thinks it’s a little ridiculous that his conscience sounds like Sam, and he’s going to give his brother an extra beating tomorrow for making him think these kinds of thoughts and preventing him from possibly getting laid tonight.

But he has to begrudgingly admit that the Sam-voice is right; just because Cas is here and close and Dean’s into him doesn’t mean that Dean deserves another chance, especially not when someone sweet, and good and much more deserving than Dean is already in Cas’ life. So even though he wants nothing more than to shove the Sam-voice behind a brick wall and lean into Cas’ space, to drag his fingers down Cas’ thigh, to press his lips under Cas’ jaw and suck a mark into his skin and claim him for his own, he doesn’t. He’s spent three years not thinking about that night, and maybe even more never letting himself see what Cas is to him, and even though the universe seems to be waving flag after flag in his face, he can pretend. He’s a good liar.

Dean slumps down on the couch, curling his legs up beneath him and slinging the blanket across himself and Cas both. He focuses hard on the TV, letting the familiar words and music suck him back down into the haze of his hangover. Before long he’s slid sideways and his head rests against Cas’ shoulder, but Cas makes no move to dislodge him so neither does Dean. He can’t be bothered to give a fuck that he’s not supposed to be touching Cas, not when he has a small piece of what he wanted after all. He’s too greedy, too selfish for that, and this is okay, right? This is just _leaning_ , and if anyone asks, he’ll blame it on the hangover and residual buzz.

And this is warm, and good and _right_ , and he’s so comfortable that he can’t keep his eyes open for long. Sometime after the hobbits make it to Rivendell, Dean falls asleep to the quiet strains of music from the TV, the gentle hum of voices and warm light flickering over his closed eyelids, punctuated by the soft sound of Cas’ steady breath.

* * *

Dean wakes the next morning to the all-too familiar sound of Sam clearing his throat pointedly. If the cramp in his neck and stiffness in his bent legs is any indication, Dean didn’t make it to bed, but he feels good in spite of his aches and pains for some reason he can’t place. It has something to do with the warm heat beneath his cheek and pressed up against his side, but he’s too happy to give it much thought.

He blinks up at his brother, who is looming over him like a friggin’ monolith, arms crossed over his broad chest. Dean blinks blearily, reaching up to rub sleep from his eyes. “Morning Sammy,” he rasps out.

“Dean,” Sam says, staring down at him with wide eyes like his older brother is missing something really obvious.

“What?” he barks, and then freezes, his body tensing, when the thing he’s lying on shifts beneath him.

 _Shit_.

He tilts his head slowly, almost afraid to look and have his fears confirmed. And yep - pressed against his side and underneath him is Cas, still fast asleep, one arm stretched up over his head to rest against the back of the couch. Dean’s cheek is pillowed on Cas’ chest and there’s a little spot of drool on his soft grey sweater from where Dean’s mouth had rested. Cas’ hand is draped over Dean, not possessive or restrictive but casual, as if it is the most natural and familiar gesture in the world, like a habit. And the warmth Dean feels along his side is from Cas’ body, hard beneath his own, familiar and yet unfamiliar, and it’s all so reminiscent of the last time they woke up like this that Dean slides a hand to his own hip and breathes a sigh of relief when he realizes that he’s still fully clothed. A sigh of relief that is quickly followed by a surge of regret.

He sits up cautiously, trying not to jostle Cas too much, but his hair tickles Cas’ chin, and Cas’ hand flops onto the couch and he shifts, finally cracking his eyelids to blink blearily up at Dean.

For a moment, he looks adorably confused, as if he doesn’t understand why it’s Dean who’s staring down at him, and then his blue eyes are flooded with warmth and his face splits into a wide, sleepy grin. Dean can’t help it; he smiles down at him too, and for one blissful second, he’s ridiculously, unashamedly _happy_.

But then Sam clears his throat again and they both jump, Dean leaping up from the couch gracelessly and feeling his face flood with heat. His legs get tangled in the blanket that’s still wrapped snuggly around Cas and he lurches forward. Sam manages to catch Dean and keep him from embarrassing himself further, rolling his eyes as he rights him.

“Hey guys,” Sam says cautiously, his eyes darting suspiciously back and forth between them.

Cas sits up and stretches, the blanket falling around his waist. “Good morning, Sam,” he says, rolling his shoulders stiffly. “Did you sleep well?” Cas isn’t flustered like Dean is, or at least he hides it better; he appears totally unfazed, and he ignores the wet spot on his chest from Dean’s drool as if it’s not even there.

“I slept fine,” Sam replies. “Not as well as you two, from the looks of things.”

“Speak for yourself, Sammy,” Dean retorts. “You can’t feel this giant kink I have in my neck.” Squeezing the muscles at the base of his neck he turns to Cas. “You’re not a very good pillow, man,” he jokes weakly.

Cas rolls his eyes and Dean has to swallow his sigh of relief at the familiar gesture. He hasn’t fucked everything up again; things are going to stay exactly as they were. So what if he’s in love with Cas? As huge as that realization is, knowing that Cas is with Daphne and doesn’t feel the same way, not having his best friend would be a thousand times worse.

Sam clears his throat again and Dean realizes he’s staring at Cas. Cas has noticed too, his head cocked and brow furrowed as he stares back at Dean as if he’s a particularly stubborn puzzle piece that won’t fit in the neat little spot that Cas has left for it.

Dean gives his head a little shake, ignoring the smug, pointed look that Sam casts his way. “So, coffee?”

Cas is no good in the mornings, slumping in an adorably mussed heap at the kitchen table. Dean moves automatically to the coffee maker, elbowing Sam aside and pointing him to the donuts on the counter instead because their machine is finicky and it’ll be quicker if he just does it himself.

He sets a full mug of coffee down next to Cas, who uncurls to slide his long fingers around the mug, smiling gratefully up at Dean. And okay, maybe this morning feels a little different than normal, because Dean feels his chest fill up with warmth at that smile and maybe he holds that sleepy blue gaze a little longer than usual.

And then Cas is practically springing out of his chair like a disgruntled jackrabbit and his coffee slops all over the table while Sam and Dean stare at him like he’s been bodysnatched. Which clearly must be the case because Cas doesn’t spring _anywhere_ before 10 am, especially without at least two cups of coffee in him, and he certainly doesn’t rush out the door with a hurried goodbye over his shoulder without even bothering to rake a hand through the mess on top of his head that passes for hair.

The door shuts behind him and Sam turns back to Dean, his mouth gaping open comically. “What the hell was that?”

Dean shrugs, even though he’d love to know the answer to that as well, and the part of him that doesn’t know when to shut the hell up thinks it probably has something to do with them waking up snuggled together on the couch like they belonged that way. And that it looks like things aren’t quite as normal as he’d hoped.

“Beats the hell out of me, Sammy,” he says, feigning nonchalance. “Pass me a donut.”

He tries his best not to think about the events of the morning as he and Sam finish their breakfast, and Sam thankfully doesn’t push it even though it’s clear he wants to. They fill the silence with mindless chit chat, spend a few hours watching Star Wars because it’s awesome, and then Dean takes Sam out for an “I’m sorry your brother was a drunken imbecile last night” lunch, just like he promised himself he would. They don’t discuss the ad or Dean’s revelation, and for that Dean is eternally grateful.

But the next time he drives past that damned billboard after dropping Sam off at his apartment, Dean looks over his shoulder to glare at the bold, fluorescent words: _Are they or aren’t they?_

“Definitely are _not_ ,” he grumbles bitterly as the Impala rumbles on past.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to my darling beta Meg, this time for fixing my apparent hyphen-phobia! And thanks so much to all of you for reading... I hope you enjoy this chapter and I'd love to hear what you think! One more chapter left after this one, and it's a doozy! ;)
> 
> The usual warnings for use of alcohol as a coping mechanism.
> 
> Come say hi to me on tumblr!

Dean moans around the first forkful, an explosion of cinnamon and apple and caramelly goodness bursting across his tongue. His eyes flutter closed as he chews slowly and swallows, savoring the taste. God damn, but there is nothing in the world like good pie.

They’re sitting together at Sam’s rickety, secondhand kitchen table, Mrs. Moseley’s best apple pie between them. Dean had stopped off at the Roadhouse on his way over and bought a couple of Ellen’s burgers to-go (no one makes a burger like Ellen) but the pie had been a surprise from Sam. He’d been suspicious at first that Sam was preparing to bribe him for something - word was that Sam’s fridge needed fixing - but it’s looking more and more like his brother just felt like being awesome today.

Sam’s laugh shakes Dean out of his pie-induced reverie. “Did I ever tell you that you’re the best little brother ever?” Dean mumbles around his second forkful.

“Oh sure, today I’m the best little brother ever but when I try to get you to eat a vegetable-”

Dean scowls, pointing across the table at Sam with his fork. “It’s unnatural, Sammy. I’m not a rabbit.” As if to demonstrate his point, he shoves more of the dessert into his mouth.

“Whatever.” Sam pauses to take a bite of his own pie, chewing slowly and swallowing before he ventures, “Hey, Dean?”

Dean pauses, fork halfway to his mouth, and eyes his brother warily. He knows that tone, and it means _Sam wants to have a serious conversation_ which usually means Dean really hasn’t consumed enough alcohol today. He _knew_ his brother would never buy him pie just because; it was way too good to be true.

He considers blowing Sam off, shovelling the rest of his dessert into his mouth and booking it the hell out of there but he’s not ready to go home to his empty house yet. And Sam is looking at him with big, serious puppy eyes (goddammit it should be illegal for his brother to use that face on him) and there’s still most of a friggin’ delicious apple pie sitting warm and seductive on the table between them.

So instead he barks “What?” and shoves his face full of flaky crust and sweet, rich filling, giving Sam a chipmunk-cheeked grin that makes him roll his eyes.

“Not that I don’t want you hanging out here,” Sam begins carefully, “but is there some reason that you don’t want to be at home?”

“I don’t not want to be at home,” Dean says thickly, his mouth still full of pie. Sam grimaces and Dean mentally high-fives himself. Grossing Sam out should be a national sport because it’s more fun than anything he’d ever been forced to play in school.

“Seriously, Dean,” Sam continues, glancing disdainfully away from Dean’s over-full mouth. “You’ve been here five nights in the past week. The last time you spent this much time at my place was when I broke my leg. Is something going on between you and Cas?”

Dean swallows hard, glaring at his brother to cover the flush in his cheeks. “No, nothing’s _going on_ between me and Cas. Jesus, Sammy, Cas has a girlfriend.” He takes a long swig of his beer, looking away from Sam’s knowing gaze. No, nothing’s going on between him and Cas, no matter how much he might wish there were.

“Are you sure you’re not… avoiding him because of what happened the other day?” Sam asks slowly.

“Nothing happened, nothing to avoid,” Dean says shortly, still refusing to meet Sam’s eyes. The truth is that he doesn’t care that he woke up with his head pillowed against Cas’ chest. He doesn’t care that it felt so right, or that he wishes he could do it again. Cas is with Daphne and Dean isn’t allowed to fall asleep with him and he’s fine with that.

So fine, in fact, that he decided that he should spend some time away from Cas because looking at him without wanting to kiss him was becoming increasingly difficult. It’s bad enough that he has to spend his entire workday sitting just a foot away from Cas - shamelessly flirting and bickering back and forth on air like the married couple half the city thinks they are - without having to go home and spend the nights with him, too. Or even worse, to sit at home alone with nothing but alcohol and the Dr. Sexy DVD box set to keep him company while Cas spends the night out with Daphne.

Unfortunately, Sam is freakishly good at reading him and he doesn’t buy it one bit. “Maybe you should talk to Cas,” he suggests, his hazel eyes serious. “Tell him how you feel.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Not gonna happen, Sam.” Dean doesn’t talk about _feelings_ and even if he did, it’s not like Cas is going to confess that he loves Dean too, and then they’ll ride happily ever after off into the sunset or some shit. “So I’m-” he grimaces- “ _in love_ with Cas. It doesn’t matter. He has a girlfriend and he’s happy, and I’m not gonna screw that up for him or make things awkward between us.” He shrugs. “I’ll get over it.”

Sam looks dubious, opening his mouth like he’s about to launch into a moment that Dr. Phil would envy but Dean cuts him off. “I’m just bored, Sammy,” he reassures his brother, making it clear that the conversation is over. “Besides, you have pie. Speaking of which, pass me that tin, I’m ready for another slice.”

* * *

Sam kicks him out around eight, saying that he needs to get some work done because he’s a friggin’ goody-goody (Dean might have added that part). Dean heads home with a generous portion of the leftover pie in a plastic container balanced on the bench seat next to him. It’s a short drive home from Sam’s apartment, but still he passes no fewer than three billboards for the station, the words _Are they or aren’t they?_ shouting down at him, taunting him until he feels a headache starting behind his temples.

When he pulls up to the curb at the house, he’s startled to see Cas’ shiny blue hatchback parked there too. “Huh,” he says out loud to the empty Impala. He’d expected Cas to be out at Daphne’s still, and seeing his car parked there leaves Dean feeling distinctly off-kilter which is just stupid. He pisses around in the Impala for a few minutes because he’s a big fucking chicken, but then, because he’s a grown man and he needs to _suck it up, Winchester,_ he snags the leftover pie and heads into the house.

Cas is stretched out across the couch, his head propped up on the armrest. He’s wearing what appears to be one of Dean’s old, threadbare t-shirts that hugs his chest in a way that Dean definitely does not notice, and a pair of loose, well-worn jeans. He looks up from the book he’s reading when the door shuts. “Dean?”

Dean rolls his eyes as he toes off his boots. “No, Jon Bon Jovi.” He hesitates, sliding his jacket down his arms and hanging it on the hook at the front door beside Cas’ infernal trenchcoat. “Thought you’d be out,” he adds finally.

Cas’ brow furrows as he squints at Dean, his book still poised over his chest. “Why would you think that?”

Dean shrugs. _Because you’ve got a pretty girl waiting for you that I’m sure you’d rather be with than with me._ “No reason.” He holds up the container of pie. “Sammy bought pie; want some?” So what if he just had two slices at Sam’s apartment? He always has room for pie.

Cas’ eyebrow arches skeptically. “You actually intend to share that with me?”

“Hey, I share,” Dean protests indignantly over his shoulder as he makes his way to the kitchen to retrieve some forks.

“The precedent would suggest otherwise.”

Dean snorts but he feels himself smile involuntarily at the dryness of Cas’ tone, warmth flooding his chest. He heats the pie in the microwave and carries it gingerly back to the living room where Cas bends his legs at the knees, moving his feet automatically to make room for Dean without taking his eyes off his book.

“How is Sam?” Cas asks, looking up when Dean nudges him with his elbow and taking the proffered fork. He folds down the corner of the page he’s on and closes the book, setting it on the floor beside the couch before sitting up.

Dean extends the plastic container, letting Cas cut a forkful of pie for himself. He tries and fails to stop himself from watching Cas’ mouth close around the fork, his pink tongue flicking out to catch a bit of filling that gets caught on his full upper lip. Cas catches him staring, raising his eyebrows expectantly, his face impassive, and Dean realizes that he’s already forgotten the question.

“Uh,” he says intelligently, heat rising in his cheeks.

Cas rolls his eyes. “Sam?” he prompts.

“Right.” Dean nods, taking another forkful of pie and swallowing it before continuing. “Sam’s his usual floppy-haired gigantor self. Still pining after that girl that he hasn’t got the guts to ask out yet. Madison something or other.” Never mind how long it’s been since Dean’s been on a date, or that he’s been in love with his roommate slash co-host slash best friend since approximately _forever_ and is too chicken to even spend time at their house because of it. It’s totally different.

Cas makes a noncommittal noise. “Isn’t that the woman we met at the Roadhouse a couple months ago?” Dean nods, and Cas continues, “He _still_ hasn’t asked her out?”

“I know right,” Dean says thickly, swallowing. “Kid needs to get his act together. She was totally into him even way back then.”

“Maybe Madison will get tired of waiting and make the first move,” Cas suggests, watching Dean as he takes another forkful.

Dean grins. “God, I hope so. If she doesn’t, I’m gonna have to intervene.”

Cas rolls his eyes, but Dean thinks he sees his lip twitch in barely concealed amusement. “How very Good Samaritan of you.”

They lapse into silence as they work their way through the pie. Normally this type of silence between them is comfortable, easy, but Dean feels a growing tension in the room that he doesn’t know how to break. He knows now is the time he’s supposed to ask how Daphne is, but he can’t bring himself to do it. It’s selfish and childish, but he’s in love with the guy and he doesn’t want to hear how great his girlfriend is. Dean already _knows_ she’s great, so much greater than he is, and he should be happy for Cas but he’s finding it pretty damn hard to make that leap.

Thankfully, Cas’ phone rings from its perch on the armrest, some rap song Dean doesn’t know ringing out into the quiet of the room. He shakes his head at Cas’ taste as his friend checks the caller ID.

“Garth,” he informs Dean, swiping the screen and hitting the button for speakerphone. “Hello?”

“Hey Cas,” their boss’ cheery voice sounds tinnily through the speaker.

“Hello Garth,” Cas replies. “Dean’s here too.”

“Oh, hey Dean!”

Dean grunts “hello” back, rolling his eyes.

“Sorry to bother you guys on your night off. Just wanted to let you know so you’re not blindsided when you get in, I’ve got a great plan for the show tomorrow!”

Garth sounds way too excited, and Dean would be willing to bet that if they could see him, he’d be bouncing on his heels in that overexcited way of his, like no self-respecting adult ever should. Dean smells trouble. He rolls his eyes, mumbling under his breath so that only Cas can hear, “I swear to god, if he says Truth or Dare-”

And sure enough, Garth continues, “Truth or Dare!”

Cas smirks across the couch at Dean, who groans. “Really? Man, we already did the Truth or Dare thing and it was a huge bust-”

“Are you kidding?” Garth interrupts. “Everyone loved it! I’m thinking of starting up Truth or Dare Tuesdays, like a weekly thing? Except this time it’s caller’s choice.” He laughs to himself. “You’re not going to get away with only choosing Truth this time, mister!”

Dean shoots a pained look at Cas, who is pressing his lips together tightly, trying not to laugh. They listen as Garth explains the details of how the game is going to run this time before he hangs up, leaving them with cheery goodnight wishes. Dean mumbles something mutinous in response, shovelling the last of the pie into his mouth as Cas disconnects the call and replaces his phone on the arm rest.

“Don’t look so smug,” Dean warns Cas who turns back to him, not even bothering to hide his amusement at Dean’s discomfort. “I’m going to bribe Jo to call in and dare you to burp the alphabet.”

* * *

So because Garth is a fucking sadist, Tuesday finds Cas and Dean once again playing Truth or Dare in the studio with a bunch of equally sadistic callers. On Garth’s instruction, they post pictures or videos of all the dares on the station’s twitter account as proof of their antics, so Dean can’t even lie and say he did what he’d been dared to.

Unable to avoid dares, Dean ends up singing this time while Cas snorts into his coffee, but he gets his own back when Cas is dared to run outside in the snow barefoot and comes back in swearing and hopping back and forth from one foot to the other like a deranged flamingo. Thankfully, a couple of callers take pity on them after that and ask them some questions instead.

“What is your greatest fear?” a man named Chuck asks on Dean’s turn.

“I’m not afraid of anything,” Dean tries but Cas just cocks an eyebrow in his direction.

“Oh really, Dean?” he says into his mic, casting a smug sidelong glance at his co-host. “So you’re not afraid of _planes?_ ”

Dean groans. “Man, c’mon that’s just low. It’s not fair that you know all my dirty little secrets.”

“Truth, Dean,” Cas reminds him, smirking.

Dean rolls his eyes. “Planes crash, dude. Being afraid of planes isn’t even embarrassing; it’s just good sense.”

Cas leans an elbow on the desk in front of them, turning in his chair to face Dean more fully. “More people are killed by donkeys annually than are killed in plane crashes,” he notes. “You’d be more likely to be trampled by an ass than to die on a plane.”

“Yeah, all right Mr. Know-It-All, shut up and take the next call,” Dean says, elbowing his smug co-host and grinning in spite of himself.

The next caller dares them both to put their underwear on outside their clothes for the rest of the work day, so they take turns disappearing into the bathroom and reappear with their underwear on over their jeans. Dean and Cas stand side by side so that Kevin can take a photo for their twitter account and Dean slings a goodnatured arm over Cas’ shoulder and makes a face, sticking out his tongue and crossing his eyes for the photo. Cas - the spoilsport - makes his usual expression of exasperated affection.

Dean’s still laughing at the ridiculous photo when he answers the next call. “Hi, The Cas and Dean show! Who am I speaking to?”

A familiar cheery voice comes over the line, filling Dean with a sense of dread that’s completely at odds with the cheerful perkiness of her voice. “Hi Dean, it’s Becky. Remember me?”

“Ahh, Becky, of course I remember you.” He’s hardly likely to forget the person responsible for starting this whole gigantic mess. Dean wonders if she listens to the show religiously, biding her time, waiting for opportunities to call in and make his life a living hell.

He glances at Cas who squints back at him over the brim of his coffee cup. “Well, Becky, do your worst. Truth or Dare?”

“Dare,” the voice comes back over the line. “I dare you to kiss Cas.”

Everything inside the booth goes still, the only sound Kevin’s loud whoop from the other side of the window. Dean feels Cas’ eyes boring into him but he doesn’t dare meet his gaze.

He tries to laugh, grimacing when he hears how wooden it sounds in his own ears. “Listen, sweetheart, I can’t kiss Cas. Ask me something else.”

“No. Way, Dean. The game is Truth or Dare. I dare you to kiss Cas.”

Dean sighs, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Becky, Cas and I are friends, and Cas has a -”

He’s cut off by the hand that circles the back of his neck, tugging him forward. He has enough time to register that Cas is close and moving closer, his eyes impossibly blue as they stare determinedly into Dean’s, before their lips are connecting. Dean’s eyes go crossed for a second in his shock, stiffening under the dry, soft touch of Cas’ mouth to his own, but then Cas’ tongue slides along the seam of his lips and Dean’s eyes flutter closed. He opens up beneath it, sinking into Cas with a sigh, and he knows he shouldn’t be enjoying this, shouldn’t even be allowed to have it in the first place, but he can’t be bothered to care. Cas tastes like the coffee he’d been drinking and the flick of his tongue and touch of his lips feels so good that there’s no room in Dean’s brain for anything else.

Then there’s the recorded click of a camera phone going off and Cas draws back. Dean’s traitor body tries to follow before he can stop it, to chase after Cas’ lips and get them back on his, but his co-host isn’t even looking at him anymore, his fingers flicking over the touch screen of his phone as he types out a tweet. “Check our twitterfeed, Becky,” Cas says into his mic as he hits send on his phone and replaces it on the desk. “I think you’ll be pleased.”

He starts up the next song and shuts off their mics, leaning back in his chair and tipping back his coffee cup as if absolutely nothing happened, as if he hadn’t just kissed Dean without the influence of alcohol for the first time ever, and hadn't just shaken Dean’s world down to its core.

Confusion and guilt flood back into Dean’s body, chasing away the last humming pulse of pleasure. “What the hell, Cas?!” he splutters.

Cas finally turns to face him, eyebrows raised. “What?”

Dean’s eyes bug out. “What do you mean, _what_? What the hell was that?”

“I’m fairly certain it was a kiss,” Cas replies dryly.

Dean’s torn between throwing a punch and shoving his tongue down Cas’ throat and he can’t even begin to understand how one person can be so goddamn irritating and so fucking sexy all at the same time. “Uh, yeah, Cas, it was a kiss.” A fucking _awesome_ kiss, too, but that’s beside the point. “But don’t you think maybe we shouldn’t be kissing?”

Cas finally looks at him, and his eyes are carefully blank. “We’re just friends, Dean,” he says, his voice level, giving nothing away. “It didn’t mean anything.”

Dean feels his stomach sink down somewhere around his ankles but he nods jerkily. “Right. Didn’t mean anything.” He’s not sure Daphne would agree, but that’s Cas’ problem. And the empty, wanting feeling in Dean’s gut - that’s Dean’s problem because the kiss “didn’t mean anything”. At least not to Cas, anyway.

The rest of the shift is awkward as fuck. Neither of them feel like playing Truth or Dare anymore and soon Charlie shows up to take over the afternoon shift. Dean can tell she’s about to say something about the kiss until she feels the distinctly tense atmosphere in the booth as they hand over the reins. She keeps quiet, mercifully shushing Kevin when he opens his mouth to make a comment, and even Garth falters as he slings his long arms around them and squeezes them to his side like he always does.

The drive back home in the Impala is silent, and Dean doesn’t think he’s imagining the chill emanating from the passenger seat. Cas doesn’t play with his phone like he often does on their drives home, doesn’t engage Dean in inane conversation, just stares out the windshield as though if he looks away the road is going to disappear and they’ll end up Thelma and Louise-ing it right off a cliff. Dean gets the distinct impression that Cas is mad at him, but that’s totally unfair because _Cas_ is the one who’d kissed _him_ , and _he’s_ the one who’s aching and longing and wishing they could have something more than they do and hating himself for not realizing it until Cas was already in a serious relationship with a sweet, wonderful girl who absolutely deserves to have someone as awesome as Cas.

As soon as they get home Cas disappears into the kitchen instead of going to change for his afternoon run. Today he heads straight for the liquor cabinet which is very unlike Cas, and just adds to the feeling of _wrong_ that’s settled in Dean’s gut. “Where’s the Jack?” Cas asks, his voice level but his eyes hard as he looks up at Dean.

“Drank it,” Dean grunts back, and he had, one night when Cas wasn’t home, presumably at Daphne’s, one of those nights that Sam was busy and Dean hadn’t wanted to face his feelings so he’d drank himself into a stupor instead.

Cas’ eyes narrow dangerously before he rises with a bottle of Skyy Vodka that someone had left behind the last time they had a party and brushes past Dean without another word. Dean hears the TV come on in the other room and he takes it that he’s not invited. He realizes he really, _really_ needs a drink right about now but Cas has the vodka and they also happen to be out of beer because he drank all that too, the same awful night that he downed all the JD.

He snags his keys off the table and calls over his shoulder that he’s going to the liquor store, to which Cas waves a hand over the back of the couch distractedly and Dean grumbles all the way back to the Impala about stupid, irritating, gorgeous housemates and the mess his life has become.

* * *

 

The crowds are pretty scarce at three o’clock in the afternoon at the liquor store, but Dean takes his time wandering up and down the aisles. It feels a lot like hiding with his tail between his legs, but Cas is upset or angry or _something_ for some inexplicable reason. Dean’s lips feel like they’re still tingling with the kiss from hours before, and he can’t even look at Cas right now without wondering if he could kiss that sour look off his face. And _that_ thought, finally, is what drives him to grab the Jack off the shelf in the whiskey aisle and scoop a case of beer out of one of the coolers, because it’s past time for him to be well and truly drunk.

The girl at the cash register is really cute, with big brown eyes and blonde-from-a-bottle hair, and she smiles at him in a way that is definitely flirtatious. Dean briefly considers trying to get her number. Getting laid wouldn’t solve anything but it would certainly take his mind off of dark, mussed hair and piercing blue eyes and a sharp, perpetually scruffy jaw for a couple of hours.

He opens his mouth to make his move, plastering on what he knows is his most winning smile, when she looks up suddenly from handing him his receipt, pointing excitedly. “Wait! I just realized where I know you from! You’re on that radio station!”

Dean’s smile wavers, but somehow he manages to salvage it. “I sure am, sweetheart,” he says with a wink. A radio DJ is hardly a celebrity, but she seems pretty excited about it. Maybe it’ll make for good conversation.

“Yeah, I saw you on that billboard! You guys are together right? It’s so cute!”

This time his smile really does falter, twisting into a grimace. “Have a nice day,” he says gruffly, grabbing the booze and slinking out of the store without another word. He makes his way across the pavement back to where he parked his baby, pausing for vehicles turning into the parking lot of the little strip mall, cursing to himself and wondering how on earth his life got so fucked up. Goddammit, he’s going to kill Garth for putting up that fucking billboard and for making them play friggin’ Truth or Dare in the first place. He’s starting to regret ever coming back home, or at least ever signing on to work for this show. This would have never happened on any of the other radio stations in the city, because they have _sane_ station managers there.

And just when he thought his day couldn’t get any fucking worse -

“Dean?”

He stops walking in the middle of the parking lot, closing his eyes and willing it to be a dream. _It’s a dream, she can’t really be there. This is not actually happening._ He turns around.

_Son of a bitch._

Standing in front of him and smiling like sunshine is Daphne fucking Allen, probably the last person Dean would have wanted to see right about now. Her hands are full of shopping bags, marked with the logo of the supermarket right next to the liquor store.

He forces his mouth into a smile, hoping it doesn’t look too sickly. None of this is Daphne’s fault, after all, and she doesn’t deserve whatever lashing his manpain might want to give her. “Hey Daphne,” he says. “How’re things? Long time no see.”

“Yes, I suppose it has been a while,” she says. “I’m well, how are you?”

He shrugs. “Same old,” he says noncommittally, hoping his guilt doesn’t show on his face. _I’m in love with your boyfriend and he kissed me today. You know. The usual._

She nods towards the liquor in his hands with a small smile. “Having a party?” She asks.

Dean huffs a laugh. “No, just uh… stocking up. How’s work?”

They exchange pleasantries, Daphne telling him about her kids at school and asking after Bobby and the Harvelles, and wondering if Sam has had the guts to ask Madison out yet. He has to laugh at that one, and oh yeah, he remembers that he actually _likes_ Daphne, in spite of his jealousy. He feels a whole new wave of guilt wash over him.

“So,” she says then, looking nervous for the first time since she’d stopped him. “How’s Cas?”

“He’s - what?” Dean blinks at her. “What do you mean ‘how’s Cas?’”

She shifts restlessly, the plastic bags in her hands rustling. “Well you know, I haven’t talked to him since the breakup. I know it’s not any of my business anymore but I still want him to be happy -”

“Hang on a second.” Dean holds up a hand, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish as he tries to process what Daphne’s saying. She stares up at him wide-eyed, probably wondering if he’s having an aneurysm as she watches.

“Dean? Are you okay?”

A truck comes pulling into the parking lot, the driver glaring at Dean where they stand in the way. He seizes Daphne by the elbow and guides her to the sidewalk where they can talk safely out of the way of traffic.

“You and Cas broke up.”

Her brow furrows. “Yes. He didn’t tell you?”

“No he didn’t tell me!” Dean feels dangerously close to hysteria. “When was this?”

“A few weeks ago,” she says, sounding puzzled. “We fought about the billboard that night, and then he came over the next morning and broke it off.”

Dean remembers that night, when Cas had come home in the wee hours of the morning and made him bacon and eggs. He remembers how they had fallen asleep together on the couch watching Lord of the Rings, and woken up curled together like they belonged that way. He remembers Cas jumping up from the kitchen table that morning like someone had set his pants on fire, remembers he and Sam wondering what the fuck had gotten into him.

“Because of the fight?” he asks.

She shakes her head, looking intently up into his eyes. “He really hasn’t told you any of this?”

“No,” Dean says, more forcefully than he’d intended. Why the hell is Cas keeping secrets like this from him? Why didn’t he think it necessary to tell him that he’d broken up with the girlfriend he’d been seeing for months? And Dean had been hiding at Sam’s for weeks trying to avoid being home alone when he could’ve been spending all that time with Cas. And that _kiss_ today -

“Daphne,” he says, pleading. “You gotta tell me what’s going on.”

She looks at him right in the eye, wide green eyes sincere, maybe even a little sorry - sorry for _him_ , which is just plain ridiculous because she was the one who got dumped - and says, “Dean, he broke up with me because he said he was in love with someone else. And it’s _okay_ ,” she insists with a small smile. “I already knew when he told me; it’s part of why we had argued in the first place. It was the best thing for us, really.”

“Who?” he asks, his voice cracking on the word, almost scared to hear the answer.

Daphne studies him, her wide green eyes flickering back and forth between both of his. “I think you already know.”

He jabs a thumb wordlessly at his own chest, and she smiles softly and nods.

Dean’s world comes screeching to a halt around him, his heartbeat pounding raucously in his ears, drowning out everything around him. Cas loves him. Is _in_ love with him. It’s suddenly very, very hard to breathe, the air around him turned heavy and fluid.

“And you love him too, right?” Daphne asks, her voice just reaching his ears through the noise.

“Yeah,” he replies breathlessly.

“Good,” Daphne says. “You two need each other.” And then she sets her grocery bags on the ground and pulls him into a hug.

Dean stiffens in surprise, but then relaxes in her embrace, choking out a laugh and wrapping his arms around her as best he can with the liquor in his hands. “Jesus, Daph, you sure deserved better than to get mixed up with the two of us. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry, too. I probably could have loved him.” She draws back and smiles sadly up at Dean. “But it never would have worked. Now are you going to stay here talking to me all day or are you going to go talk to him?”

Dean laughs a little wetly. “Yeah, okay,” he says. Impulsively, he leans in and presses a kiss to her cheek. “Thanks, Daphne,” he whispers, then turns to make his way back to the Impala, his stomach twisted up in knots and his heart thudding frantically against his ribcage as he heads back home to Cas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry for where this chapter had to end... but rest assured that the next chapter is going to earn this fic its Explicit rating! Thanks again for reading; I'd love to hear what you think!
> 
> See you next Friday for the (I hope!) thrilling conclusion! ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it! The final Chapter! ENJOY!!!!
> 
> Thank you sooo much to [Meg](http://myplaceofgreatestsafety.tumblr.com), the bestest beta ever, for encouraging me and helping me make this thing readable! Hyphenitis is real, people.
> 
> Usual warnings for use of alcohol as a coping mechanism. Also about half this chapter is nsfw-type stuffs, so warnings for that, if that's not your thing.
> 
> Edit 01/09/2015: Art at the end of this chapter is by my amazing friend [Sandra](http://casblues.tumblr.com) ♥

Dean bursts through the door of his and Cas’ house and hurriedly toes off his boots, swearing when the right one gets caught on his heel and he has to kick his foot to get it off. He leaves them strewn haphazardly all over the mat which Cas will probably nag him about, but he can’t be bothered to care. Daphne’s words are still running through him like an electric shock, adrenaline and excitement and nervousness pulsing through him and making him jittery with energy, with the need to do _something._

Everything makes sense now: Cas’ strange behavior the morning after they had woken up on the couch together, his failure to mention Daphne for the past several weeks, the kiss at the station today, his pissy behavior afterwards. Although, really, all of this could have been made infinitely easier if Cas had just talked to him after he broke up with Daphne, but Dean has time to give him shit for that later. Right now, he needs to find Cas and tell him that he knows, and hopefully they can stop dancing around each other like they’re trapped in some ridiculous Greek play. He’s never been one for the dramatic irony bullshit.

A quick glance at the couch tells him that Cas is no longer in the living room, though the TV is still on and blaring, the open vodka bottle sitting next to an empty glass on the floor beside the couch. The downstairs bathroom is unoccupied, so Dean hurries through to the kitchen, only to find it empty as well.

He shoves the beer in the fridge without taking it out of its case and hurriedly unscrews the cap of the whiskey, pouring himself a generous measure and shooting it back in one quick pull, because he could really use some liquid courage right about now. He fills his glass again and turns to lean against the counter, jumping when he sees Cas standing silently in the kitchen doorway, watching him with narrowed eyes, a book clutched in his hand.

“Shit Cas, make a noise,”  Dean snaps automatically without thinking. But then he remembers and he tenses up, his whole body shuddering to a halt - all except his frantic heart, slamming up against his rib cage. All the words die on his tongue as he stares at his friend, swallowing hard.

Cas’ eyes flicker to the glass in his hand and the bottle of Jack in the other. “Are you all right?” he asks suspiciously, his eyes narrowing impossibly further as he studies Dean’s tense posture.

“Yeah, man, fine,” Dean replies gruffly, gesturing with the whiskey bottle. “Uh, I got some more Jack if you still want some.”

Cas’ eyebrows slide up toward his hairline. “I can see that,” he comments mildly, and Dean has to suppress the familiar mixture of affection and irritation that only Cas can incite. Cas studies him for a moment longer before shrugging slightly and turning to go back to the living room.

“Wait, Cas!” Dean calls after him.

Cas stops. “I’m just getting my glass, Dean,” he says impatiently over his shoulder.

“Hang on a second wouldja, I’m trying to tell you something.” Dean sets the whiskey bottle back on the counter, taking Cas’ silence as permission to continue. “I, uh… I ran into Daphne.”

Cas’ shoulders stiffen where he stands in the doorway, but he doesn’t turn around. “Oh.”

Dean barks a humorless laugh. “Yeah, ‘oh’.” He swishes the whiskey around in his glass and then brings it up to his lips, knocking back the smoky liquid and letting the burn of it washing down his throat distract him from the unpleasant churning in his stomach.

“How is she?” Cas asks finally, turning around and rubbing at the back of his neck, his eyes darting up to meet Dean’s and then away again. He must know the jig is up because he looks sheepish as he gazes across the room at Dean.

“She seemed pretty good,” Dean replies, trying not to follow the motion of Cas’ tongue as it flicks out to wet his lips. They stare at each other for a few long seconds, the silence thick and tense between them. “Why didn’t you tell me you broke up with her?” Dean blurts finally.

Cas blinks, surprised. He studies Dean’s face, brow furrowing, and Dean can almost see the wheels turning. “It didn’t seem relevant at the time,” Cas says finally.

“Didn’t seem-” Dean chokes off, unable to finish the sentence. It didn’t seem _relevant_ that Cas had been single for _weeks_ while Dean pined after him like a lost puppy, thinking he had missed his chance? It didn’t seem _relevant_ that the reason Cas had been single was that he, in turn, had been pining after _Dean_ this entire fucking time?

“Cas, you dumb fuck,” Dean breathes instead. He combs a hand roughly through his hair, staring agitatedly at Cas who is looking more and more confused by the second, his brow furrowing adorably.

Finally, Dean does the only thing that makes sense, the only thing his scattered, fevered mind can actually comprehend. Shoving his glass back onto the counter, he crosses the space between them in three strides, and reaching out to grab a fistful of Cas shirt, tugs him forward to slam their lips together. He’s not gentle like Cas had been earlier at the station, and Cas makes a soft sound of surprise at first, his body tensing under the onslaught. But he only takes a second to catch up and then he’s melting into Dean’s lips and responding with equal ferocity, his hands fisting in the fabric of Dean’s shirt and tongue forcing its way into Dean’s mouth.  Dean’s hands wind around Cas’ waist, tugging him closer until they’re pressed together from shoulder to groin, and it takes Dean approximately 2.5 seconds to get hard.

Cas’ hands slide up into Dean’s hair, and everything about this is even better than Dean had remembered. They’re both frantic with need and there’s a little too much teeth and a little too much tongue, but Dean doesn’t care; as far as he’s concerned, it’s perfect. Then Cas works his knee between Dean’s and Dean moans at the press of Cas’ muscular thigh against his dick, the hard line of Cas’ own cock pressing into his hip. Their hips roll and jerk together and Dean thinks that if this continues, he’s going to end up coming in his pants right in the middle of their shared kitchen like a horny fucking teenager.

But far too soon, Cas hands are stilling, sliding down to rest on his shoulders. His hips slow reluctantly in their rocking and he pulls back incrementally. “Dean…” he half moans, half whines, shoving gently at Dean’s shoulders.

“No,” Dean grumbles, “I’m not finished,” ducking under Cas’ chin to lick up the sharp line of his jaw. He doesn’t want to stop, doesn’t want to _talk_ when they’re finally _there,_ when he finally has what he wants. He doesn’t want to stop because he doesn’t want to have to talk about his _feelings_ , and he doesn’t want to think about how this could totally fuck up their friendship, how he’s probably going to screw this up and then where will they be?

Yeah, they should definitely just keep kissing.

Cas tilts his head back to give Dean more access, his actions at war with his words as he repeats, “Dean,” this time a little more controlled, a little more forceful.

Dean groans in complaint but this time he actually pulls back, forcing his hands to still on Cas’ hips. He studies Cas’ eyes which are wide and confused under the haze of lust. His mouth, flushed red and wet, opens and closes several times as he tries and fails to find words.

“Explain,” he demands finally and it’s so very _Cas_ that Dean has to bite back an affectionate laugh. He feels his face flush warm and his eyes dart away from Cas’ to study the aged refrigerator behind him. He really, _really_ doesn’t want to have this conversation, especially not now, while they’re both hard and panting, but his conscience chimes up in that suspiciously Sam-sounding voice that they really need to set all the cards out on the table before they do anything else, because wasn’t it miscommunication that got them into this mess in the first place?

Dean really needs to remember to punch his little brother for sticking rational thoughts in his head at inconvenient times like these.

Staring determinedly over Cas’ shoulder, he takes a deep breath, his fingers tightening involuntarily on Cas’ hips. “So I’m… in love with you, I guess,” he mumbles, finally. He risks a glance at Cas’ face and is met with a too-wide, blue gaze.

“You guess?” Cas asks, his voice carefully neutral.

Dean rolls his eyes. “I _know_ ,” he says gruffly. “I’ve known for a while, okay? And Daphne said-” he cuts himself off, too chicken to continue because what if Daphne was wrong? What if Cas doesn’t love him after all and he’s just spilled his guts all over the floor and wrecked everything for nothing?

Cas’ expression doesn’t change as his eyes flicker back and forth between Dean’s, studying him carefully. Just as Dean’s about to force out what will probably be the fakest laugh ever and insist that it was all a big joke, Cas nods succinctly. “Okay,” he says and steps out of Dean’s grasp, snagging one of Dean’s hands off his hip and tugging Dean along after him as he moves out of the kitchen.

 _What the fuck just happened?_ Dean’s eyes feel like they must be bugging out of his head as he lets himself be towed along after Cas. “‘Okay’? That’s it? I tell you I’m in love with you - probably have been for fucking _years_ , by the way - and you say ‘ _okay_ ’?” He feels bare, exposed, laid open for Cas’ gaze, and he wants to hear Cas say it back, wants him to confirm what Daphne had told him that had given him hope for the first time in who knows how long that he and Cas could have something more. “Aren’t we going to talk about this?”

Cas stops, turning back to face him, and the stern look in his eyes almost drives Dean back a step. “There will be plenty of time to talk about this later, but right now we’re going to go have sex,” he says firmly. “Is that all right with you?”

Dean swallows, feeling his cock give a hard twitch inside his too-tight jeans, because yeah, he’s pretty fucking _all right_ with that. “Okay,”  he says, and lets himself be led up the stairs.

Dean breathes a sigh of relief when they pass by his room because he can’t remember the last time he changed the sheets and there may or may not be dirty underwear slung around his room. He’s not usually so much of a slob - except when he’s deliberately provoking Cas - but the funk he’d been in in the last few weeks had made him lazy and petulant.

Cas nudges the door of his room open wider and pulls Dean through, turning to face him as soon as they’re both inside. Dean’s stomach is twisted up in knots, the frantic passion from the kitchen squashed down by nerves into a tense ball of panic. Their fingers are still linked together loosely but the space between them might as well be a gaping chasm.

Nobody ever tells you that having sex with your best friend for the first time while sober is scary as fuck. Dean experiences a moment of raw panic as he and Cas survey each other. Maybe this is a big mistake after all. Cas - his best friend slash co-host slash roommate, Cas - is about to see him naked. They’re about to have sex, this time without the excuse of alcohol, and there’s no coming back from this. What if Cas realizes what a fuckup Dean is and decides he doesn’t want him after all, and then Dean loses his best friend along with everything else?

But then he has to stifle a laugh when he remembers that this is _Cas_ after all. Cas, who gives Dean shit about not cleaning up his dishes and leaving coaster rings on the furniture and getting a teeny tiny drop of beer on a ratty paperback that had probably seen a million times worse. Cas, who’s put up with Dean’s drinking and his obnoxious superiority about his music and his car, and his string of loud one night stands over the years. Cas, who moved across the country with him, who broke up with his wonderful girlfriend because he’s - supposedly - in love with Dean. He knows Dean at his worst, and in spite of that, for some ridiculous, incomprehensible reason, Cas still wants him.

Dean realizes he’s grinning when he sees Cas’ lips curve into an answering smile, his eyes amused but questioning. “What?” Cas asks.

Dean shakes his head reaching out a free hand to tug Cas forward by his hip, drawing him in. “Nothing,” he murmurs. “Just - can’t believe this is actually happening.”

Cas chuckles, a low, sexy sound that sends a bolt of heat through Dean’s belly. He leans in, the scruff along his jaw tickling Dean’s cheek. “Believe it,” he says, his breath a moist heat on the bolt of Dean’s jaw, and then he’s catching Dean’s earlobe between his teeth and _holy mother of god._

Dean groans, his hips jerking forward until they’re flush against one another. Cas huffs a laugh but doesn’t stop, worrying the flesh between his teeth before moving to Dean’s jaw, sucking hot kisses in the sensitive flesh. Dean groans, tilting his head back to give Cas better access, and his eyes shutter closed as Cas works his way down the line of his jaw, the soft, scratchy tingle of his overgrown scruff at odds with the nip of his teeth and the wet heat of his tongue. And he doesn’t stop there either, moving his way down the column of Dean’s throat, one of his hands cupping the back of Dean’s neck and the other circling his waist and holding him close.

Somehow, Dean’s hands end up in Cas’ hair and he tugs until Cas pulls away from his neck with one last regretful swipe of his tongue, and Dean jerks his head upwards to kiss him. He teases the seam of Cas’ lips with his tongue until Cas moans into his mouth, tugging at the plump flesh of Dean’s bottom lip with his teeth. Their tongues meet in a hot slide, stroking and teasing and Dean’s hard again and aching. His hands drop to Cas’ waist, sliding under the hem of his shirt, skating over the cut of his hipbones before moving upwards to splay over the hot skin of Cas’ back. The strong muscles play under Cas’ skin as he moves to circle his arms around Dean’s neck, rippling under Dean’s hands.

He wants to feel that skin on his, so he pulls back to tug at Cas’ shirt, ignoring Cas’ protesting whine. “Get this off,” he says impatiently, his voice husky with desire. Cas hurries to comply, pulling the shirt over his head and dropping it on the floor. His hands drop to the hem of Dean’s shirt and then he’s dragging that up too and then they’re chest to chest, Cas’ solid warmth pressed right up against Dean.

He drags his hands up and down Cas’ sides, admiring the way the muscles jump at the touch. Dean likes to tease Cas about his daily runs, but right now he can’t be anything but happy about it, his mouth watering at the firm lines of muscle, the cut of his hips. His mind is full of all sorts of dirty ideas about what this strong, taut body can do, and then he realizes with a jolt that he might actually get to find out.

He rolls his hips against Cas’, groaning when their cocks bump together through the fabric of their jeans. Cas captures his mouth again, his tongue sliding in alongside Dean’s. Dean drops one hand to cup Cas’ erection through the denim, loving the choked sound that Cas gasps into his mouth. He flicks open the button on Cas’ jeans and works the zipper down one handed, dragging his fingers over Cas’ cock in the process, and Cas gives his hips a little wiggle until his jeans slide to the floor. He steps out of them, kicking them to the side, and then his fingers are working the fly of Dean’s jeans, letting them drop to join his.

Cas moves backwards slowly, dragging Dean along with him, until his legs hit the bed and he tips them both over. Dean falls on top of Cas who lets out a quiet “oof” at Dean’s weight but he doesn’t complain, just laughs breathlessly and pulls him closer, tugging their hips until their cocks align again through their underwear and they both gasp. Cas’ hands slide under the waistband of Dean’s boxers to cup his ass, rocking their hips together. Dean loves the feeling of Cas beneath him, loves Cas’ hair tangled around his fingers, loves the friction of their erections grinding together and their lips and tongues moving in tandem, breaths mingling.

Cas rolls them over and Dean’s totally one hundred percent okay with this turn events, but then Cas is sitting up, pulling back, and Dean’s eyes snap open indignantly. Cas is staring down at him, his eyes roaming hungrily over Dean’s body. Dean squirms, self-conscious under the intensity of his gaze, but Cas holds him still with one hand on each of his hips. “You’re beautiful,” he says solemnly, the words forcing a choked, humorless laugh through Dean’s lips.

“You’ve seen me naked before, Cas,” he murmurs, feeling his face color under the weight of Cas’ eyes, heavy and caressing on his skin.

“Yes,” Cas agrees, smirking, “but I was a little intoxicated at the time, and if I recall correctly, I was underneath you for most of it, so I didn’t have much of a chance to look.”

He’s looking now though, taking in every single bump and dip and freckle. It makes Dean want to hide, to shy away, but Cas holds him still. And then he bends at the waist, his mouth falling to Dean’s skin. His scruff tickles, and his lips are hot and caressing as he makes his way across Dean’s chest, dragging his open mouth over his collarbone, kissing the constellations of his freckles. He teases first one nipple and then the other, sucking it into his mouth and then teasing it gently with his teeth. By the time Cas moves to tongue the flat of each rib, Dean’s panting, his back arching as Cas nibbles at a hipbone. But then he’s nuzzling the softness below Dean’s belly button, placing tender kisses on the soft flesh and Dean’s breath catches in his throat at the reverence that Cas presses into his skin.

Finally Cas’ fingers curl in the waistband of Dean’s boxers and he drags them down and off. Dean’s cock bobs free, heavy and leaking, but Cas’ eyes are on Dean’s when he says, “so beautiful,” and sucks him down.

Dean gasps as the wet suction of Cas’ mouth surrounds him, his hips jerking unconsciously. His eyes want to roll back in his head but he forces them open, shoving himself on his elbows to watch Cas’ plush lips slide up and down his cock. And Cas is still watching him, his hot, blue gaze boring into Dean’s as he bobs his head, the flat of his tongue working over the underside, his cheeks hollowed as he sucks. He looks fucking amazing like this, and it feels incredible, and soon there is a pull starting at the base of Dean’s spine, but he holds off for as long as possible before dragging Cas away from him with both hands fisted in that thick dark hair.

“Cas, that’s - fucking - that was so fucking good but I -” he groans in frustration, and Cas looks curiously up at him, his lips slick with spit and precome and he looks so fucking pornographic and Dean _wants_ so badly it hurts.

Dean drags him up and Cas goes willingly, letting Dean pull him down into a kiss, but then he’s drawing back to look down at Dean.

“What, Dean,” he says. “What do you want? Tell me.”

Dean considers shaking his head, telling Cas not to worry and shoving him back down to let him finish the job (heh), but Cas is staring at him expectantly, waiting with that look on his face that says he’s going to hold on like a bulldog until Dean tells him what he wants.

“I want you in me when I come,” Dean says finally, his face burning.

And Cas’ eyes spark hot and needy, his lips curving into a feral grin. “We can do that,” he says, and then he’s pulling away, drawing back and moving to the side of the bed to fish around in the little nightstand.

Dean shivers when Cas moves away from him so he follows, curling his arms around Cas’ waist while Cas digs out a condom and the lube. Cas’ back is warm against his chest, and the curve of his neck smells delicious, like sweat and the bodywash they share and something uniquely Cas. He slides one hand into Cas’ lap, under the waistband of his boxer briefs, circling his fingers around his erection and jacking him slowly. Cas freezes, arching back against Dean, his head falling back against Dean’s shoulder. He turns his head and lets his open mouth rest against Dean’s neck, his breath coming wet and hot and fast as Dean moves his hand over Cas’ length.

Then Cas is grabbing at his wrist, dragging Dean’s hand out of his underwear and shoving him down flat on the bed. He stands and shucks his underwear before climbing back onto the mattress and kneeling between Dean’s legs. Dean’s eyes rake over Cas’ naked body, admiring the strong thighs and thick cock curving upwards between his legs.

Cas settles between Dean’s thighs, propping himself on his elbows and hooking one of Dean’s legs over his shoulder. He slides his hand up and down Dean’s thigh, pressing sweet kisses on the inside of his knee. Dean wants to laugh or make a joke about Cas being a sappy asshole but it feels so good that the laugh catches in his chest. Then there’s the click of the lube cap and Cas has a slick finger nudging at his entrance and the breath bursts out of him in a gasp.

Cas is taking his sweet ass time, and Dean is fucking trembling with want, and the bastard looks so put together and so unaffected. He arches into the touch and Cas chuckles. “So impatient” he comments, but he pushes forward, breaching Dean’s rim to the first knuckle. He works agonizingly slowly, easing his finger into Dean, and it’s good but it’s _not enough_.

Dean shoves himself back up on his elbows, glaring down at Cas. “I’ve been waiting for this for fucking years you asshole,” he growls. “So yeah, I’d say I’m _impatient_. And you need to _hurry the fuck up_.” And Cas just grins in response and works a second finger in.

He works quickly now, scissoring his fingers until he can slide a third finger in alongside the others, but still, Dean’s practically begging for it by the time Cas pulls his fingers out and tears the condom packet open with his teeth. He whines at the emptiness, shifting his hips impatiently as Cas rolls the condom on himself and slicks himself up, but then Cas looks down at him and his eyes are fucking burning with need and with desperation and Dean feels a leap of satisfaction that maybe Cas isn’t so unaffected after all.

And when Cas hooks his arms under Dean’s thighs and lines himself up at Dean’s entrance, he looks straight into Dean’s eyes and says in a low, husky voice that goes straight to Dean’s cock, “I’ve wanted for this for a long time, too, Dean,” and pushes in.

He thrusts in slowly, inch by inch, his jaw clenching with the effort required to move slowly, and Dean gasps when he’s fully seated, clutching at the tense muscles of Cas’ arms. He feels so full and there’s a slight burn because it’s been a long time since he’s done this but it’s Cas and he’s finally inside him and he feels fucking amazing.

“Are you all right?” Cas asks, his voice strained as he fights to hold still, his breathing labored.

Dean nods frantically. “Yeah I’m good, just fucking - fuck me already!”

Cas huffs a short laugh, but he nods and pulls back, sliding back in with a groan. “Shit, Dean, you’re so tight,” he says breathlessly, and then - fucking _finally_ \- starts thrusting in earnest.

Apparently Cas only objects to loud, enthusiastic sex when he’s not one of the participants, because he loves every single sound that Dean makes, every stuttered curse, every guttural groan. When Cas shifts, pushing Dean’s legs up higher on his shoulders and changing the angle, a moan bursts from Dean’s lips as Cas’ cock drags against his prostate. The hungry look in Cas’ eyes at the sound and the curse that he muffles against the flesh of Dean’s thigh where it’s hooked over his shoulder brings another pull of heat surging through Dean’s core. And now that he’s found it, Cas just digs his hands into the bed on either side of Dean’s hips and screws up his face in concentration, nailing Dean’s prostate on every thrust.

Dean bursts into an endless incoherent litany of praises and demands and curses. “Yeah Cas, just like that... fucking fuck me... you feel so good... fuck yeah, right there!” He’s not making sense but he doesn’t care because Cas is here fucking into him and looking debauched and fierce and hungry and he’s probably the hottest thing Dean has ever laid eyes on. And somewhere along the line their eyes collide and hold, and Cas stills his thrusts long enough to untangle his arms and slide himself over Dean’s body. His hands fall on either side of Dean’s face, stroking into the short strands of his hair and then his mouth lands on Dean’s in a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss. He breaks away to drop his head into the crook of Dean’s neck and Dean hooks his ankles together around Cas’ hips, drawing him deeper, Cas’ cock teasing his prostate with each thrust. A familiar curling pressure is building in his abdomen, and he arches into its pull, the curve of his spine pushing the head of Cas’ cock even more firmly against that spot inside him -

And Cas’ hand catches tight in his hair and he whispers “Dean,” in a broken, fervent voice and then Dean is coming untouched in hot spurts between their bodies, crying out and clutching desperately at Cas above him, clenching around Cas’ cock.

“Fuck,” Cas chokes out, and their lips slam together again as he thrusts with new fury into Dean, riding the waves of Dean’s orgasm.

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean manages, staring raptly up at him, “wanna see you come.” And it’s not even a minute before Cas is spilling into the condom deep inside Dean, shaking above him and stilling, and finally, collapsing onto Dean’s chest.

They’re both reluctant to move but eventually Cas presses a kiss to Dean’s collarbone and rolls off of him, moving to dispose of the condom in the garbage can beside his bed. He scoops a t-shirt off the floor - Dean’s not sure whose it is but he suspects probably his - and cleans the come off of their stomachs and chests before throwing it back to the floor to be dealt with later. He tugs at the blanket under Dean’s body and Dean groans in protest. Cas fixes him with such a typical _Cas_ glare that Dean chuckles.

“Dean, get under the covers,” he demands and Dean rolls his eyes but complies, wiggling back and forth until Cas manages to get the blanket out from underneath him and throws it back over top of them both, lying down beside Dean.

“So,” Cas says finally. “You’re in love with me.”

“Uh huh,” Dean says, nodding but not bothering to open his eyes.

Cas is silent and Dean turns his head to look at him, cracking one eyelid. Cas is staring, blue eyes unblinking as he searches Dean’s face, his hair a complete disaster against the pale blue pillowcase. “I love you too,” he says finally, in the same casual tone one uses to comment on the weather.

Dean grins and gropes around under the blankets until he finds Cas’ hand and rolls to face him, hooking his foot around Cas’ ankle. “That’s good, because I think our friendship is pretty well fucked, man.” He chuckles. “Pun intended.”

Cas rolls his eyes at him which only makes him laugh harder, so he leans in to capture Cas’ lips in a kiss. “Go to sleep Cas,” he says, closing his eyes and settling in under the covers. “You need your rest so that we can have round two when we wake up in a couple hours.”

And that finally gets a laugh out of Cas, and Dean’s rewarded when Cas cards a hand through his hair and leans in to kiss his forehead. “Looking forward to it,” Cas says, his voice low and warm and full of promise, and Dean drifts off to sleep with a smile on his face.

A couple hours later Dean wakes up to his stomach protesting emptily, a faceful of Cas’ sex-hair and all four of Cas’ limbs wound around him like an octopus. Dean flips through an impressive gamut of emotions that he doesn’t really want to look too hard at because it’s venturing into way sappy territory, but if he burrows down into Cas’ hair and strokes his thumb over Cas’ cheekbone - well, there’s no one there to see him do it.

And when Cas finally stirs sleepily under his touch, Dean disentangles himself from the clingy creature that is his best friend slash co-host slash housemate (slash boyfriend?) and slides down the bed to wake Cas up with the blowjob of the century just because he can.

* * *

The horror that is Truth or Dare Tuesday shows up week after week like a bad penny. And every week Dean puts up his usual protest, rolling his eyes at Cas behind Garth’s back as their boss lopes out of the studio like an overgrown stork, and Cas determinedly avoids his eyes, his lips pressed together in a firm line to fend off his laughter.

It’s possible that Dean owes this whole new relationship with Cas to Garth and his dumb ideas but Dean would eat his own arm before he’d ever admit it. They haven’t even broken the news to anyone yet. It’s not because they’re ashamed of it, although Dean really isn’t looking forward to the “I told you so” he’s going to get from his sasquatch of a brother, and he can only imagine the billboard that Garth and the PR team will come up with next, once the news breaks. It’ll come out sooner or later… they just haven’t exactly gotten around to it yet.

It’s been a few weeks since they finally fell into bed together and laid all their feelings out on the table and – unlike the last time they slept together – things between them remain comfortably the same. Cas still nags him to pick up after himself and looks at him like he can’t believe half the things that come out of his mouth, and Dean still loses his shit when Cas forgets to buy milk or gets the crappy beer. Except now, Dean’s allowed to stare when Cas stretches or when his tongue slips out to lap up the pie filling that catches there. He’s allowed to lean up against Cas on purpose when they watch TV together on the couch and mess up his hair just ‘cause Cas has friggin’ great hair and because it makes him scowl in that adorable way of his.

And now, when Dean’s having obnoxiously loud, enthusiastic sex, somehow, Cas doesn’t seem to mind.

This week on Truth or Dare Tuesday, the usual assortment of terrible dares and awkward questions ensues. Dean can’t help but marvel at the creativity of their listeners and how they still manage to come up with things to ask them and do to them that can only fall under the category of cruel and unusual punishment. He begrudgingly admits that some of them are fun, though, like when someone dares Dean to “moon the intern” which he does with gusto. He considers it payback for the times Kevin let that scary girl Becky on the air when he turns his back towards the window, bends down and exposes his ass before Kevin can react. The resulting twitpic that Cas posts - from the front, capturing Kevin’s expression of horror through the glass and Dean’s protruding tongue - is pure gold and has Dean wheezing and bent over with laughter through the entire commercial break while Cas chuckles beside him.

Dean flicks on his mic as the last commercial winds up. “We’re back folks, and it’s-“ he grimaces comically at Cas, who laughs – “Truth or Dare Tuesday! Cas, you got someone on the line?”

Cas nods at him and hits a button to pick up the call. “Hello, The Mix?”

“Hey sugar,” a sultry female voice says through the speaker.

“Hello, who am I speaking to?” Cas asks, taking a sip of his coffee.

“My name’s Pamela,” the woman replies.

“Hey Pamela,” Dean chimes in between bites of his donut. “What’s the word?”

“Well, I got a question for you boys.”

Dean leans back in his chair, lacing his fingers together behind his head. “Do your worst,” he challenges with a wink at Cas who huffs a laugh and knocks his knee against Dean’s affectionately.

“You might want to be careful throwing that challenge around, Dean,” Cas warns him, grinning. “Remember last time?”

“Oh, you mean the time that chick dared me to kiss you and I tried to do the gentlemanly thing and you ambushed me? That time?”

Cas grins wolfishly. “Yes, that time.”  

A low chuckle filters through the speakers. “Now boys,” the caller chides them teasingly, “you gonna flirt all day or do you wanna play Truth or Dare?”

“All right, Pam,” Dean says, laughing. “What’s it gonna be?”

“Truth,” Pamela says immediately. “When was the last time you got laid?”

Dean barks a laugh. “Forward; I like it. But too bad for you, sweetheart, I never kiss and tell.” He leers in Cas’ direction.

“Spoilsport,” Pamela replies good-naturedly. “How about you, Cas? You wanna admit the last time _you_ had sex?”

Cas shoots Dean a familiar sidelong glance, considering. Dean has just enough time to think that he really should have seen this one coming before Cas leans into the microphone and answers without even batting an eyelash: “This morning before Dean and I got up for work.”

Dean’s mouth drops open automatically on a protest, a disturbingly high-pitched squawk forcing its way out of his chest. Pamela’s husky laugh rings out over the line and she says “Congratulations, boys,” and she doesn’t sound the least bit surprised.

Cas gets the next song in the rotation playing, ignoring Kevin who has apparently forgiven them for the mooning incident and is screaming at them both through the glass from outside the studio. Garth’s out there too, standing behind Kevin and beaming like a kid at Christmas. Dean’s phone is already lighting up like a strobe light and vibrating so steadily he has to snag it off the desk before it shimmies right off the edge. He sees Sam’s name flash on the screen followed by Jo, then Charlie and then Sam again.

“Seriously, Cas?” he finally manages to choke out, but his mouth curls into a crooked smile, a laugh bursting out of him without his say-so.

And Cas smirks, reaching out to seize a handful of Dean’s t-shirt. “Truth, Dean,” Cas says with a wink, and drags him forward for a kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOW thank you all so much for reading! I started writing this ages ago and to have it be finished now is just awesome. I'm so amazed by all of your lovely comments... thank you so much for reading and leaving kudos and commenting and letting me know how much you were enjoying this story!
> 
> Please let me know what you think! I really hope you enjoyed the final chapter and that it was worth the wait! I have a timestamp or two that I'm hoping to write for this universe, just for fun, so keep an eye out for those!
> 
> I'm wincechesters on tumblr if you want to come say hello!
> 
> Thanks so much again, babies. I love you like Dean loves pie. <3


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